THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


I    SHALL    COME    BACK    FOR    MORE 


The 

TIN  SOLDIER 


BY 

TEMPLE  BAILEY 

Author  of  "Contrary   Mary"    ft  Mistress 
Anne"    "Glory  of  Youth"  s  etc. 


Illustrations     by 
F.  VAUX  WILSON 


THE     PENN     PUBLISHING 
COMPANY     PHILADELPHIA 

1919 


COPYRIGHT 
1918  BY 
THE  PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


First  printing  November,  1918. 
Second  printing  January,  1919. 
Third  printing  March,  1919. 
Fourth  printing  May,  1919. 


The  Tin  Soldier 


3505 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 
ON  THE  SHELF 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  TOY  SHOP 9 

II  CINDERELLA 28 

III  DRUSILLA 39 

IV  THE  QUESTION 50 

V  THE  SLACKER 65 

VI  THE  PROMISE 76 

VII  HILDA 89 

VIII  THE  SHADOWED  ROOM     .     .     .     .102 

IX  ROSE-COLOR! 115 

X  A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 132 

XI  HILDA  WEARS  A  CROWN  ....  143 

XII  WHEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG  .  154 

XIII  ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS?     .  166 

XIV  SHINING  SOULS 186 

XV  HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES  .     .     .  198 

XVI    JEAN- JOAN 215 

XVII    THE  WHITE  CAT 225 

BOOK  TWO 
THROUGH  THE  CRACK 

XVIII    THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY      .     .     .     .245 
XIX    HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE  .  .  266 


1703752 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XX 

THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN  . 

.  278 

XXI 

DERBY'S  WIFE  

302 

XXII 

JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY  ...» 

313 

BOOK  THREE 

THE  BUGLE  CALLS 

XXIII 

THE  EMPTY  HOUSE   .... 

.  327 

XXIV 

THE  SINGING  WOMAN      .     .     . 

.  358 

XXV 

WHITE  VIOLETS     

,   376 

XXVI 

THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD  .     . 

.  387 

XXVII 

MARCHING  FEET   

403 

XXVIII 

Six  DAYS  

,   427 

XXIX 

"  HE  CAME  TO  THE  WARS  !  "  .     . 

.  448 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  I  shall  come  back  for  more  "  .     .     Frontispiece 
"  I  haven't  anything  left  —  for  you  "  .  .74 

"  If  anything  should  happen,  you  will  remem- 
ber? " 251 

"  These  are  my  jewels  " 442 


BOOK  ONE 
ON  THE  SHELF 

"  I  cannot  bear  it,"  the  Tin  Soldier  said,  standing  on  the 
shelf,  "I  cannot  bear  it.  It  is  so  melancholy  here.  Let  me 
rather  go  to  the  wars  and  lose  my  arms  and  legs." 

HANS  ANDEBSEN  :    The  Old  House. 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  TOY   SHOP 

THE  lights  shilling  through  the  rain  on  the  smooth 
street  made  of  it  a  golden  river. 

The  shabby  old  gentleman  navigated  unsteadily 
until  he  came  to  a  corner.  A  lamp-post  offered  safe 
harbor.  He  steered  for  it  and  took  his  bearings. 
On  each  side  of  the  glimmering  stream  loomed  dark 
houses.  A  shadowy  blot  on  the  triangle  he  knew  to 
be  a  church.  Beyond  the  church  was  the  intersect- 
ing avenue.  Down  the  avenue  were  the  small  ex- 
clusive shops  which  were  gradually  encroaching  on 
the  residence  section. 

The  shabby  old  gentleman  took  out  his  watch. 
It  was  a  fine  old  watch,  not  at  all  in  accord  with 
the  rest  of  him.  It  was  almost  six.  The  darkness 
of  the  November  afternoon  had  come  at  five.  The 
shabby  old  gentleman  swung  away  from  the  lamp- 
post and  around  the  corner,  then  bolted  trium- 
phantly into  the  Toy  Shop. 

"  Here  I  am,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  buoy- 
ancy, and  sat  down. 

9 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl  behind  the  counter,  "  you  are 
wet." 

"  Well,  I  said  I'd  come,  didn't  I?  Kain  or  shine? 
In  five  minutes  I  should  have  been  too  late  —  shop 
closed  — "  He  lurched  a  little  towards  her. 

She  backed  away  from  him.  "  You  —  you  are  — 
wet  —  won't  you  take  cold  — ?  " 

"  Never  take  cold  —  glad  to  get  here  — "  He 
smiled  and  shut  his  eyes,  opened  them  and  smiled 
again,  nodded  and  recovered,  nodded  and  came  to 
rest  with  his  head  on  the  counter. 

The  girl  made  a  sudden  rush  for  the  rear  door  of 
the  shop.  "  Look  here,  Emily.  Poor  old  duck !  " 

Emily,  standing  in  the  doorway,  surveyed  the 
sleeping  derelict  scornfully.  "  You'd  better  put 
him  out.  It  is  six  o'clock,  Jean  — " 

"He  was  here  yesterday  —  and  he  was  furious 
because  I  wouldn't  sell  him  any  soldiers.  He  said 
he  wanted  to  make  a  bonfire  of  the  Prussian  ones  — 
and  to  buy  the  French  and  English  ones  for  his 
son,"  she  laughed. 

"  Of  course  you  told  him  they  were  not  for  sale." 

"  Yes.  But  he  insisted.  And  when  he  went 
away  he  told  me  he'd  come  again  and  bring  a  lot  of 
money  — " 

The  shabby  old  gentleman,  rousing  at  the  psycho- 
logical moment,  threw  on  the  counter  a  roll  of  bills 
and  murmured  brokenly : 

10 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

" '  Ten  little  soldiers  fighting  on  the  line, 

One  was  blown  to  glory,  and  then  there  were  nine  — ! ' " 

His  head  fell  forward  and  again  he  slept. 

"Disgusting,"  said  Emily  Bridges;  "of  course 
we've  got  to  get  him  out." 

Getting  him  out,  however,  offered  difficulties. 
He  was  a  very  big  old  gentleman,  and  they  were 
little  women. 

"  We  might  call  the  police  — " 

"Oh,  Emily— " 

"  Well,  if  you  can  suggest  anything  better.  We 
must  close  the  shop." 

"We  might  put  him  in  a  taxi  —  and  send  him 
home." 

"  He  probably  hasn't  any  home." 

"  Don't  be  so  pessimistic  —  he  certainly  has 
money." 

"  You  don't  know  where  he  got  it.  You  can't  be 
too  careful,  Jean — " 

The  girl,  touching  the  old  man's  shoulder,  asked, 
"  Where  do  you  live?  " 

He  murmured  indistinctly. 

"  Where?  "  she  bent  her  ear  down  to  him. 

Waking,  he  sang : 

"  Two  little  soldiers,  blowing  up  a  Hun  — 
The  darned  thing  —  exploded  — 
And  then  there  was —    One — " 

"Oh,  Emily,  did  you  ever  hear  anything  so 
funny?" 

11 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Emily  couldn't  see  the  funny  side  of  it.  It  was 
tragic  and  it  was  disconcerting.  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  Perhaps  you'd  better  call  a  taxi." 

"  He's  shivering,  Emily.  I  believe  I'll  make  him 
a  cup  of  chocolate." 

"  Dear  child,  it  will  be  a  lot  of  trouble  — " 

"  I'd  like  to  do  it  —  really." 

"  Very  well."  Emily  was  not  unsympathetic,  but 
she  had  had  a  rather  wearing  life.  Her  love  of  toys 
and  of  little  children  had  kept  her  human,  other- 
wise she  had  a  feeling  that  she  might  have  hard- 
ened into  chill  spinsterhood. 

As  Jean  disappeared  through  the  door,  the  elder 
woman  moved  about  the  shop,  setting  it  in  order 
for  the  night.  It  was  a  labor  of  love  to  put  the 
dolls  to  bed,  to  lock  the  glass  doors  safely  on  the 
puffy  rabbits  and  woolly  dogs  and  round-eyed  cats, 
to  close  the  drawers  on  the  tea-sets  and  Lilliputian 
kitchens,  to  shut  into  boxes  the  tin  soldiers  that 
their  queer  old  customer  had  craved. 

For  more  than  a  decade  Emily  Bridges  had  kept 
the  shop.  Originally  it  had  been  a  Thread  and 
Needle  Shop,  supplying  people  who  did  not  care  to 
go  downtown  for  such  wares. 

Then  one  Christmas  she  had  put  in  a  few 
things  to  attract  the  children.  The  children  had 
come,  and  gradually  there  had  been  more  toys 
—  until  at  last  she  had  found  herself  the  owner 
of  a  Toy  Shop,  with  the  thread  and  needle  and 
12 


THE  TOT  SHOP 

other  staid  articles  stuck  negligently  in  the  back- 
ground. 

Yet  in  the  last  three  years  it  had  been  hard  to 
keep  up  the  standard  which  she  had  set  for  herself. 
Toys  were  made  in  Germany,  and  the  men  who  had 
made  them  were  in  the  trenches,  the  women  who 
had  helped  were  in  the  fields  —  the  days  when  the 
bisque  babies  had  smiled  on  happy  working-house- 
holds were  over.  There  was  death  and  darkness 
where  once  the  rollicking  clowns  and  dancing  dolls 
had  been  set  to  mechanical  music. 

Jean,  coming  back  with  the  chocolate,  found 
Emily  with  a  great  white  plush  elephant  in  her 
arms.  His  trappings  were  of  red  velvet  and  there 
was  much  gold ;  he  was  the  last  of  a  line  of  assorted 
sizes. 

There  had  always  been  a  white  elephant  in  Miss 
Emily's  window.  Painfully  she  had  seen  her  sup- 
ply dwindle.  For  this  last  of  the  herd,  she  had  a 
feeling  far  in  excess  of  his  value,  such  as  a  collector 
might  have  for  a  rare  coin  of  a  certain  minting,  or 
a  bit  of  pottery  of  a  pre-historic  period. 

She  had  not  had  the  heart  to  sell  him.  "  I  may 
never  get  another.  And  there  are  none  made  like 
him  in  America." 

"  After  the  war  — "  Jean  had  hinted. 

Miss  Emily  had  flared,  "  Do  you  think  I  shall  buy 
toys  of  Germany  after  this  war?  " 

"  Good  for  you,  Emily.  I  was  afraid  you  might." 
13 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

But  tonight  a  little  pensively  Miss  Emily 
wrapped  the  old  mastodon  up  in  a  white  cloth.  "  I 
believe  I'll  take  him  home  with  me.  People  are  al- 
ways asking  to  buy  him,  and  it's  hard  to  explain." 

"  I  should  say  it  is.  I  had  an  awful  time  with 
him,"  she  indicated  the  old  gentleman, "  yesterday." 

She  set  the  tray  down  on  the  counter.  There 
was  a  slim  silver  pot  on  it,  and  a  thin  green  cup. 
She  poked  the  sleeping  man  with  a  tentative  finger. 
"  Won't  you  please  wake  up  and  have  some  choco- 
late." 

Rousing,  he  came  slowly  to  the  fact  of  her  hos- 
pitality. "My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  with 
a  trace  of  courtliness,  "you  shouldn't  have 
troubled  — "  and  reached  out  a  trembling  hand  for 
the  cup.  There  was  a  ring  on  the  hand,  a  seal  ring 
with  a  coat  of  arms.  As  he  drank  the  chocolate 
eagerly,  he  spilled  some  of  it  on  his  shabby  old 
coat. 

He  was  facing  the  door.  Suddenly  it  opened, 
and  his  cup  fell  with  a  crash. 

A  young  man  came  in.  He,  too,  was  shabby,  but 
not  as  shabby  as  the  old  gentleman.  He  had  on  a 
dilapidated  rain-coat,  and  a  soft  hat.  He  took  off 
his  hat,  showing  hair  that  was  of  an  almost  silvery 
fairness.  His  eyebrows  made  a  dark  pencilled  line 
—  his  eyes  were  gray.  It  was  a  striking  face,  given 
a  slightly  foreign  air  by  a  small  mustache. 

He  walked  straight  up  to  the  old  man,  laid  his 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  Hello,  Dad."  Then,  anx- 
iously, to  the  two  women,  "  I  hope  he  hasn't 
troubled  you.  He  isn't  quite  —  himself." 

Jean  nodded.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  came.  We 
didn't  know  what  to  do." 

"  I've  been  looking  for  him  — "  He  bent  to  pick 
up  the  broken  cup.  "  I'm  dreadfully  sorry.  You 
must  let  me  pay  for  it." 

«  Oh,  no." 

"  Please."  He  was  looking  at  it.  "  It  was  valu- 
able? " 

"  Yes,"  Jean  admitted,  "  it  was  one  of  Emily's 
precious  pets." 

"  Please  don't  think  any  more  about  it,"  Emily 
begged.  "  You  had  better  get  your  father  home 
at  once,  and  put  him  to  bed  with  a  hot  water 
bottle." 

Now  that  the  shabby  youth  was  looking  at  her 
with  troubled  eyes,  Emily  found  herself  softening 
towards  the  old  gentleman.  Simply  as  a  derelict 
she  had  not  cared  what  became  of  him.  But  as  the 
father  of  this  son,  she  cared. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will.     We  must  be  going,  Dad." 

The  old  gentleman  stood  up.  "  Wait  a  minute  — 
I  came  for  tin  soldiers  —  Derry  — " 

"  They  are  not  for  sale,"  Miss  Emily  stated. 
"  They  are  made  in  Germany.  I  can't  get  any 
more.  I  have  withdrawn  everything  of  the  kind 
from  my  selling  stock." 

15 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  shabby  old  gentleman  murmured  disconso- 
lately. 

"  Oh,  Emily,"  said  the  girl  behind  the  counter, 
"  don't  you  think  we  might — ?  " 

Derry  Drake  glanced  at  her  with  sudden  interest. 
She  had  an  unusual  voice,  quick  and  thrilling.  It 
matched  her  beauty,  which  was  of  a  rare  quality  — 
white  skin,  blue  eyes,  crinkled  hair  like  beaten 
copper. 

"  I  don't  see,"  he  said,  smiling  for  the  first  time, 
"  what  Dad  wants  of  tin  soldiers." 

"  To  make  'em  fight,"  said  the  shabby  old  man, 
"we've  got  to  have  some  fighting  blood  in  the 
family." 

The  smile  was  struck  from  the  young  man's  face. 
Out  of  a  dead  silence,  he  said  at  last,  "  You  were 
very  good  to  look  after  him.  Come,  Dad."  His 
voice  was  steady,  but  the  flush  that  had  flamed  in 
his  cheeks  was  still  there,  as  he  put  his  arm  about 
the  shaky  old  man  and  led  him  to  the  door. 

"  Thank  you  both  again,"  he  said  from  the  thresh- 
old. Then,  with  his  head  high,  he  steered  his  un- 
steady parent  out  into  the  rain. 

It  was  late  when  the  two  women  left  the  shop. 
Miss  Emily,  struggling  down  the  block  with  her 
white  elephant,  found,  in  a  few  minutes,  harbor  in 
her  boarding  house.  But  Jean  lived  in  the  more 
fashionable  section  beyond  Dupont  Circle.  Her 
father  was  a  doctor  with  a  practice  among  the  older 
16 


THE  TOT  SHOP 

district  people,  who,  in  spite  of  changing  adminis- 
trations and  fluctuating  populations,  had  managed 
to  preserve  their  family  traditions  and  social  iden- 
tity. 

Dr.  McKenzie  did  not  always  dine  at  home.  But 
tonight  when  Jean  came  down  he  was  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  He  was  a  big,  handsome  man  with 
crinkled  hair  like  his  daughter's,  copper-colored 
and  cut  close  to  his  rather  classic  head. 

Hilda  Merritt  was  also  at  the  table.  She  was  a 
trained  nurse,  who,  having  begun  life  as  the  Doc- 
tor's office-girl,  had,  gradually,  after  his  wife's 
death,  assumed  the  management  of  his  household. 
Jean  was  not  fond  of  her.  She  had  repeatedly 
begged  that  her  dear  Emily  might  take  Miss  Mer- 
ritt's  place. 

"  But  Hilda  is  much  younger,"  her  father  had 
contended,  "  and  much  more  of  a  companion  for 
you." 

"  She  isn't  a  companion  at  all,  Daddy.  We 
haven't  the  same  thoughts." 

But  Hilda  had  stayed  on,  and  Jean  had  sought 
her  dear  Emily's  company  in  the  little  shop. 
Sometimes  she  waited  on  customers.  Sometimes 
she  worked  in  the  rear  room.  It  was  always  a 
great  joke  to  feel  that  she  was  really  helping.  In 
all  her  life  her  father  had  never  let  her  do  a  useful 
thing. 

The  table  was  lighted  with  candles,  and  there  was 
17 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

a  silver  dish  of  fruit  in  the  center.  The  dinner  was 
well-served  by  a  trim  maid. 

Jean  ate  very  little.  Her  father  noticed  her  lack 
of  appetite,  "Why  don't  you  eat  your  dinner,  dear?  " 

"  I  had  chocolate  at  Emily's." 

"  I  don't  think  she  ought  to  go  there  so  often," 
Miss  Merritt  complained. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Jean's  voice  was  like  the  crack  of 
a  whip. 

"  It  is  so  late  when  you  get  home.     It  isn't  safe." 

"  I  can  always  send  the  car  for  you,  Jean,"  her 
father  said.  "  I  don't  care  to  have  you  out  alone." 

"Having  the  car  isn't  like  walking.  You  know 
it  isn't,  Daddy,  with  the  rain  against  your  cheeks 
and  the  wind  — " 

Dr.  McKenzie's  quick  imagination  was  fired. 
His  eyes  were  like  Jean's,  lighted  from  within. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  all  right  if  she  comes  straight 
up  Connecticut  Avenue,  Hilda?  " 

Miss  Merritt  had  long  white  hands  which  lay 
rather  limply  on  the  table.  Her  arms  were  bare. 
She  was  handsome  in  a  red-cheeked,  blond  fashion. 

"  Of  course  if  you  think  it  is  all  right,  Doctor — " 

"  It  is  up  to  Jean.  If  she  isn't  afraid,  we  needn't 
worry." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything." 

He  smiled  at  her.  She  was  so  pretty  and  slim 
and  feminine  in  her  white  gown,  with  a  string  of 
pearls  on  her  white  neck.  He  liked  pretty  things 
18 


TEE  TOY  SHOP 

and  he  liked  her  fearlessness.  He  had  never  been 
afraid.  It  pleased  him  that  his  daughter  should 
share  his  courage. 

"  Perhaps,  if  I  am  not  too  busy,  I  will  come  for 
you  the  next  time  you  go  to  the  shop.  Would 
walking  with  me  break  the  spell  of  the  wind  and 
wet?" 

"  You  know  it  wouldn't.  It  would  be  quite  — 
heavenly  —  Daddy." 

After  dinner,  Doctor  McKenzie  read  the  evening 
paper.  Jean  sat  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire  and 
knitted  for  the  soldiers.  She  had  made  sweaters 
until  it  seemed  sometimes  as  if  she  saw  life  through 
a  haze  of  olive-drab. 

"  I  am  going  to  knit  socks  next,"  she  told  her 
father. 

He  looked  up  from  his  paper.  "  Did  you  ever 
stop  to  think  what  it  means  to  a  man  over  there 
when  a  woman  says  '  I'm  going  to  knit  socks '?  " 

Jean  nodded.  That  was  one  of  the  charms  which 
her  father  had  for  her.  He  saw  things.  It  was 
tired  soldiers  at  this  moment,  marching  in  the  cold 
and  needing  —  socks. 

Hilda,  having  no  vision,  remarked  from  the  cor- 
ner where  she  sat  with  her  book,  "  There's  no  sense 
in  all  this  killing  —  I  wish  we'd  kept  out  of  it." 

"  Wasn't  there  any  sense,"  said  little  Jean  from 
the  hearth  rug,  "in  Bunker  Hill  and  Valley 
Forge?" 

19 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Hilda  evaded  that.  "  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  they've 
stopped  playing  the  '  Star-Spangled  Banner '  at  the 
movies.  I'm  tired  of  standing  up." 

Jean  voiced  her  scorn.  "  I'd  stand  until  I 
dropped,  rather  than  miss  a  note  of  it." 

Doctor  McKenzie  interposed : 

" '  The  time  has  come,'  the  Walrus  said, 
*  To  talk  of  many  things, 
Of  shoes  —  and  ships  —  and  sealing  wax  — 
Of  cabbages  —  and  kings  — '  " 

"  Oh,  Daddy,"  Jean  reproached  him,  "  I  should 
think  you  might  be  serious." 

"  I  am  not  just  twenty  —  and  I  have  learned  to 
bank  my  fires.  And  you  mustn't  take  Hilda  too 
literally.  She  doesn't  mean  all  that  she  says,  do 
you,  Hilda?  " 

He  patted  Miss  Merritt  on  the  shoulder  as  he 
went  out.  Jean-hated  that.  And  Hilda's  blush. 

With  the  Doctor  gone,  Hilda  shut  herself  up  in 
the  office  to  balance  her  books. 

Jean  went  on  with  her  knitting.  Hilda  did  not 
knit.  When  she  was  not  helping  in  the  office  or  in 
the  house,  her  hands  lay  idle  in  her  lap. 

Jean's  mind,  as  she  worked,  was  on  those  long 
white  hands  of  Hilda's.  Her  own  hands  had  short 
fingers  like  her  father's.  Her  mother's  hands  had 
been  slender  and  transparent.  Hilda's  hands  were 
not  slender,  they  had  breadth  as  well  as  length,  and 
20 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

the  skin  was  thick.  Even  the  whiteness  was  like 
the  flesh  of  a  fish,  pale  and  flabby.  No,  there  was 
no  beauty  at  all  in  Hilda's  hands. 

Once  Jean  had  criticised  them  to  her  father.  "  I 
think  they  are  ugly." 

"They  are  useful  hands,  and  they  have  often 
helped  me." 

"  I  like  Emily's  hands  much  better." 

"  Oh,  you  and  your  Emily,"  he  had  teased. 

Yet  Jean's  words  came  back  to  the  Doctor  the 
next  night,  as  he  sat  in  the  Toy  Shop  waiting  to 
escort  his  daughter  home. 

Miss  Emily  was  serving  a  customer,  a  small  boy 
in  a  red  coat  and  baggy  trousers.  A  nurse  stood 
behind  the  small  boy,  and  played,  as  it  were, 
Chorus.  She  wore  a  blue  cape  and  a  long  blue  bow 
on  the  back  of  her  hat. 

The  small  boy  was  having  the  mechanical  toys 
wound  up  for  him.  He  expressed  a  preference  for 
the  clowns,  but  didn't  like  the  colors. 

"  I  want  him  boo',"  he  informed  Miss  Emily, 
"  he's  for  a  girl,  and  she  yikes  boo'." 

"  Blue,"  said  the  nurse  austerely,  "  you  know 
your  mother  doesn't  like  baby  talk,  Teddy." 

"  Ble-yew  — "  said  the  small  boy,  carefully. 

"  Blue  clowns,"  Miss  Emily  stated,  sympatheti- 
cally, "  are  hard  to  get.  Most  of  them  are  red.  I 
have  the  nicest  thing  that  I  haven't  shown  you. 
But  it  costs  a  lot  — " 

21 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  It's  a  birfday  present,"  said  the  small  boy. 

"  Birthday,"  from  the  Chorus. 

"  Be-yirthday,"  was  the  amended  version,  "  and  I 
want  it  nice." 

Miss  Emily  brought  forth  from  behind  the  glass 
doors  of  a  case  a  small  green  silk  head  of  lettuce. 
She  set  it  on  the  counter,  and  her  fingers  found  the 
key,  then  clickety-click,  clickety-click,  she  wound  it 
up.  It  played  a  faint  tune,  the  leaves  opened  —  a 
rabbit  with  a  wide-frilled  collar  rose  in  the  center. 
He  turned  from  side  to  side,  he  waggled  his  ears, 
and  nodded  his  head,  he  winked  an  eye;  then  he 
disappeared,  the  leaves  closed,  the  music  stopped. 

The  small  boy  was  entranced.     "  It's  boo-ful  — " 

"  Beautiful  — "  from  the  background. 

"  Be-yewtiful  — .     I'll  take  it,  please." 

It  was  while  Miss  Emily  was  winding  the  toy 
that  Dr.  McKenzie  noticed  her  hands.  They  were 
young  hands,  quick  and  delightful  hands.  They 
hovered  over  the  toy,  caressingly,  beat  time  to  the 
music,  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
little  boy  as  he  stood  finally  with  upturned  face  and 
tied-up  parcel. 

"  I'm  coming  adain,"  he  told  her. 

"  Again  — ." 

"  Ag-yain  — ,"  patiently. 

"  I  hope  you  will."  Miss  Emily  held  out  her 
hand.  She  did  not  kiss  him.  He  was  a  boy,  and 
she  knew  better. 

22 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

When  he  had  gone,  importantly,  Emily  saw  the 
Doctor's  eyes  upon  her.  "  I  hated  to  sell  it,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh ;  "  goodness  knows  when  I  shall  get 
another.  But  I  can't  resist  the  children  — " 

He  laughed.     "  You  are  a  miser,  Emily." 

He  had  known  her  for  many  years.  She  was  his 
wife's  distant  cousin,  and  had  been  her  dearest 
friend.  She  had  taught  in  a  private  school  before 
she  opened  her  shop,  and  Jean  had  been  one  of  her 
pupils.  Since  Mrs.  McKenzie's  death  it  had  been 
Emily  who  had  mothered  Jean. 

The  Doctor  had  always  liked  her,  but  without  en- 
thusiasm. His  admiration  of  women  depended 
largely  on  their  looks.  His  wife  had  meant  more 
to  him  than  that,  but  it  had  been  her  beauty  which 
had  first  held  him. 

Emily  Bridges  had  been  a  slender  and  diffident 
girl.  She  had  kept  her  slenderness,  but  she  had 
lost  her  diffidence,  and  she  had  gained  an  air  of  dis- 
tinction. She  dressed  well,  her  really  pretty  feet 
were  always  carefully  shod  and  her  hair  carefully 
waved.  Yet  she  was  one  of  the  women  who  occupy 
the  background  rather  than  the  foreground  of  men's 
lives  —  the  kind  of  woman  for  whom  a  man  must 
be  a  Columbus,  discovering  new  worlds  for  himself. 

"  You  are  a  miser,"  the  Doctor  repeated. 

"  Wouldn't  you  be,  under  the  same  circum- 
stances? If  it  were,  for  example,  surgical  instru- 
ments— anaesthetics — ?  And  you  knew  that  when 
23 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

they  were  gone  you   wouldn't   get   any   more? " 

He  did  not  like  logic  in  a  woman.  He  wanted 
to  laugh  and  tease.  "  Jean  told  me  about  the  white 
elephant." 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  I  have  him  at  home  —  safe. 
In  a  big  box  —  with  moth-balls — "  Her  lips 
twitched.  "  Oh,  it  must  seem  funny  to  anyone  who 
doesn't  feel  as  I  do." 

The  door  of  the  rear  room  opened,  and  Jean  came 
in,  carrying  in  her  arms  an  assortment  of  strange 
creatures  which  she  set  in  a  row  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  her  father. 

"There?"  she  asked,  "what  do  you  think  of 
them?" 

They  were  silhouettes  of  birds  and  beasts,  made 
of  wood,  painted  and  varnished.  But  such  ducks 
had  never  quacked,  such  geese  had  never  waddled, 
such  dogs  had  never  barked  —  fantastic  as  a  night- 
mare —  too  long  —  too  broad  —  exaggerated  out  of 
all  reality,  they  might  have  marched  with  Alice 
from  Wonderland  or  from  behind  the  Looking 
Glass. 

"  I  made  them,  Daddy." 

«  YOU  — ." 

"  Yes,  do  you  like  them?  " 

"  Aren't  they  a  bit  —  uncanny?  " 

"  We've  sold  dozens ;  the  children  adore  them." 

"And  you  haven't  told  me  you  were  doing  it. 
Why?" 

24 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

"I  wanted  you  to  see  them  first  —  a  surprise. 
We  call  them  the  Lovely  Dreams,  and  we  made  the 
ducks  green  and  the  pussy  cats  pink  because  that's 
the  way  the  children  see  them  in  their  own  little 
minds  — " 

She  was  radiant.  "And  I  am  making  money, 
Daddy.  Emily  had  such  a  hard  time  getting  toys 
after  the  war  began,  so  we  thought  we'd  try.  And 
we  worked  out  these.  I  get  a  percentage  on  all 
sales/' 

He  frowned.     "  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Don't  I  give  you  money  enough?  " 

"  Of  course.     But  this  is  different." 

"How  different?" 

"  It  is  my  own.     Don't  you  see?  " 

Being  a  man  he  did  not  see,  but  Miss  Emily  did. 
"  Any  work  that  is  worth  doing  at  all  is  worth  be- 
ing paid  for.  You  know  that,  Doctor." 

He  did  know  it,  but  he  didn't  like  to  have  a 
woman  tell  him.  "  She  doesn't  need  the  money." 

"  I  do.  I  am  giving  it  to  the  Red  Cross.  Please 
don't  be  stuffy  about  it,  Daddy." 

"Am  I  stuffy?" 

"  Yes." 

He  tried  to  redeem  himself  by  a  rather  tardy  en- 
thusiasm and  succeeded.     Jean  brought  out  more 
Lovely    Dreams,    until    a    grotesque    procession 
stretched  across  the  room. 
25 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Tomorrow,"  she  announced,  triumphantly, 
"  we'll  put  them  in  the  window,  and  you'll  see  the 
children  coming." 

As  she  carried  them  away,  Doctor  McKenzie  said 
to  Emily,  "  It  seems  strange  that  she  should  want 
to  do  it." 

"  Not  at  all.  She  needs  an  outlet  for  her  ener- 
gies." 

"Oh,  does  she?" 

"  If  she  weren't  your  daughter,  you'd  know  it." 

On  the  way  home  he  said,  "  I  am  very  proud  of 
you,  my  dear." 

Jean  had  tucked  her  arm  through  his.  It  was 
not  raining,  but  the  sky  was  full  of  ragged  clouds, 
and  the  wind  blew  strongly.  They  felt  the  push  of 
it  as  they  walked  against  it. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  her  cheek  against  his  rough 
coat,  "  are  you  proud  of  me  because  of  my  green 
ducks  and  my  pink  pussy  cats?  " 

But  she  knew  it  was  more  than  that,  although  he 
laughed,  and  she  laughed  with  him,  as  if  his  pride 
in  her  was  a  thing  which  they  took  lightly.  But 
they  both  walked  a  little  faster  to  keep  pace  with 
their  quickened  blood. 

Thus  their  walk  became  a  sort  of  triumphant 
progress.  They  passed  the  British  Embassy  with 
the  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  watching  over  it  in  the 
night;  they  rounded  the  Circle  and  came  suddenly 
upon  a  line  of  motor  cars. 
26 


THE  TOY  SHOP 

"  The  Secretary  is  dining  a  rather  important  com- 
mission," the  Doctor  said;  "it  was  in  the  paper. 
They  are  to  have  a  war  feast  —  three  courses,  no 
wine,  and  limited  meats  and  sweets." 

They  stopped  for  a  moment  as  the  guests  de- 
scended from  their  cars  and  swept  across  the  side- 
walk. The  lantern  which  swung  low  from  the 
arched  entrance  showed  a  spot  of  rosy  color  —  the 
velvet  wrap  of  a  girl  whose  knot  of  dark  curls 
shone  above  the  ermine  collar.  A  Spanish  comb, 
encrusted  with  diamonds,  was  stuck  at  right  angles 
to  the  knot. 

Beside  the  young  woman  in  the  rosy  wrap  walked 
a  young  man  in  a  fur  coat  who  topped  her  by  a 
head.  He  had  gray  eyes  and  a  small  upturned  mus- 
tache —  Jean  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  her  father  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing  — "  she  watched  the  two  ascend  the 
stairs.  "  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  I  knew  him." 

The  great  door  opened  and  closed,  the  rosy  wrap 
and  the  fur  coat  were  swallowed  up. 

"  Of  course  it  couldn't  be,"  Jean  decided  as  she 
and  her  father  continued  on  their  wonderful  way. 

"  Couldn't  be  what,  my  dear?  " 

"  The  same  man,  Daddy,"  Jean  said,  and  changed 
the  subject. 


27 


CHAPTER  II 

CINDERELLA 

THE  next  time  that  Jean  saw  Him  was  at  the 
theater.  She  and  her  father  went  to  worship  at 
the  shrine  of  Maude  Adams,  and  He  was  there. 

It  was  Jean's  yearly  treat.  There  were,  of 
course,  other  plays.  But  since  her  very-small-girl- 
hood, there  had  been  always  that  red-letter  night 
when  "  The  Little  Minister "  or  "  Hop-o'-my- 
Thumb "  or  "  Peter  Pan "  had  transported  her 
straight  from  the  real  world  to  that  whimsical, 
tender,  delightful  realm  where  Barrie  reigns. 

Peter  Pan  had  been  the  climax ! 

Do  you  believe  in  fairies? 

Of  course  she  did.  And  so  did  Miss  Emily. 
And  so  did  her  father,  except  in  certain  backslid- 
ing moments.  But  Hilda  didn't. 

Tonight  it  was  "A  Kiss  for  Cinderella" — ! 
The  very  name  had  been  enough  to  set  Jean's 
cheeks  burning  and  her  eyes  shining. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Daddy,  that  I  was  six  when 
I  first  saw  her,  and  she's  as  young  as  ever?  " 

"  Younger."  It  was  at  such  moments  that  the 
Doctor  was  at  his  best.  The  youth  in  him  matched 
28 


CINDERELLA 

the  youth  in  his  daughter.  They  were  boy  and  girl 
together. 

And  now  the  girl  on  the  stage,  whose  undying 
youth  made  her  the  interpreter  of  dreams  for  those 
who  would  never  grow  up,  wove  her  magic  spells  of 
tears  and  laughter. 

It  was  not  until  the  first  satisfying  act  was  over 
that  Jean  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  about  her. 

The  house  was  packed.  The  old  theater  with 
its  painted  curtain  had  nothing  modern  to  recom- 
mend it.  But  to  Jean's  mind  it  could  not  have 
been  improved.  She  wanted  not  one  thing  changed. 
For  years  and  years  she  had  sat  in  her  favorite  seat 
in  the  seventh  row  of  the  parquet  and  had  loved 
the  golden  proscenium  arch,  the  painted  goddesses, 
the  red  velvet  hangings  —  she  had  thrilled  to  the 
voice  and  gesture  of  the  artists  who  had  played  to 
please  her.  There  had  been  "  Wang  "  and  "  The 
Wizard  of  Oz  " ;  "  Kobin  Hood  " ;  the  tall  comedian 
of  "  Casey  at  the  Bat " ;  the  short  comedian  who 
had  danced  to  fame  on  his  crooked  legs ;  Mrs.  Fiske, 
most  incomparable  Becky;  Mansfield,  Sothern  — 
some  of  them,  alas,  already  gods  of  yesterday ! 

At  first  there  had  been  matinees  with  her  mother 
— "  The  Little  Princess,"  over  whose  sorrows  she 
had  wept  in  the  harrowing  first  act,  having  to  be 
consoled  with  chocolates  and  the  promise  of 
brighter  things  as  the  play  progressed. 

Now  and  then  she  had  come  with  Hilda.  But 
29 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

never  when  she  could  help  it.  "  I'd  rather  stay  at 
home,"  she  had  told  her  father. 

"But  —  why—  ?" 

"  Because  she  laughs  in  the  wrong  places." 

Her  father  never  laughed  in  the  wrong  places, 
and  he  squeezed  her  hand  in  those  breathless  mo- 
ments where  words  would  have  been  desecration, 
and  wiped  his  eyes  frankly  when  his  feelings  were 
stirred. 

"  There  is  no  one  like  you,  Daddy,"  she  had  told 
him,  "  to  enjoy  things."  And  so  it  had  come  about 
that  he  had  pushed  away  his  work  on  certain  nights 
and,  sitting  beside  her,  had  forgotten  the  sordid 
and  suffering  world  which  he  knew  so  well,  and 
which  she  knew  not  at  all. 

As  her  eyes  swept  the  house,  they  rested  at  last 
with  a  rather  puzzled  look  on  a  stout  old  gentleman 
with  a  wide  shirt-front,  who  sat  in  the  right-hand 
box.  He  had  white  hair  and  a  red  face. 

Where  had  she  seen  him  ? 

There  were  women  in  the  box,  a  sparkling  com- 
pany in  white  and  silver,  and  black  and  diamonds, 
and  green  and  gold.  There  was  a  big  bald-headed 
man,  and  quite  in  the  shadow  back  of  them  all,  a 
slender  youth. 

It  was  when  the  slender  youth  leaned  forward 
to  speak  to  the  vision  in  white  and  silver  that  Jean 
stared  and  stared  again. 

She  knew  now  where  she  had  seen  the  old  gentle- 
30 


CINDERELLA 

man  with  the  wide  shirt  front.  He  was  the  shabby 
old  gentleman  of  the  Toy  Shop!  And  the  youth 
was  the  shabby  son ! 

Yet  here  they  were  in  state  and  elegance !  As  if 
a  fairy  godmother  had  waved  a  wand  — ! 

The  curtain  went  up  on  a  feverish  little  slavey 
with  her  mind  set  on  going  to  the  ball,  on  Our  Po- 
liceman wanting  a  shave,  on  the  orphans  in  boxes, 
on  baked  potato  offered  as  hospitality  by  a  half- 
starved  hostess,  on  a  waiting  Cinderella  asleep  on 
a  frozen  doorstep. 

And  then  the  ball  —  and  Mona  Lisa,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Devonshire,  and  The  Girl  with  the 
Pitcher  and  the  Girl  with  the  Muff  —  and  Cinder- 
ella in  azure  tulle  and  cloth-of-gold,  dancing  with 
the  Prince  at  the  end  like  mad  — . 

Then  the  bell  boomed  —  the  lights  went  out  — 
and  after  a  little  moment,  one  saw  Cinderella, 
stripped  of  her  finery,  staggering  up  the  stairs. 

Jean  cried  and  laughed,  and  cried  again.  Yet 
even  in  the  midst  of  her  emotion,  she  found  her  eyes 
pulled  away  from  that  appealing  figure  on  the  stage 
to  those  faintly  illumined  figures  in  the  box. 

When  the  curtain  went  down,  her  father,  most 
surprisingly,  bowed  to  the  old  gentleman  and  re- 
ceived in  return  a  genial  nod. 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  him?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes.     It  is  General  Drake." 

"  Who  are  the  others?  " 
31 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  the  women.  The  boy  in 
the  back  of  the  box  is  his  son,  DeRhymer  Drake." 

Berry! 

"  Oh," —  she  had  a  feeling  that  she  was  not  being 
quite  candid  with  her  father  — "  he's  rather  swank, 
isn't  he,  Daddy?" 

"  Heavens,  what  slang !  I  don't  see  where  you 
get  it.  He  is  rich,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  and 
it's  a  wronder  he  isn't  spoiled  to  death.  His  mother 
is  dead,  and  the  General  is  his  own  worst  enemy; 
eats  and  drinks  too  much,  and  thinks  he  can  get 
away  with  it." 

"  Are  they  very  rich  — ?  " 

"  Millions,  with  only  Derry  to  leave  it  to.  He's 
the  child  of  a  second  wife." 

Oh,  lovely,  lovely,  lovely  Cinderella,  could  your 
godmother  do  more  than  this?  To  endow  two 
rained-on  and  shabby  gentlemer.  with  pomp  and 
circumstance ! 

Jean  tucked  her  hand  into  he:  father's,  as  if  to 
anchor  herself  against  this  amas-i.ig  tide  of  revela- 
tion. Then,  as  the  auditorium  darkened,  and  the 
curtain  went  up,  she  was  swept  along  on  a  wave 
of  emotions  in  which  the  play  world  and  the  real 
world  were  inextricably  mixed. 

And  now  Our  Policeman  discovers  that  he  is  "  ro- 

mantical."     Cinderella  finds  her  Prince,  who  isn't 

in  the  least  the  Prince  of  the  fairy  tale,  but  much 

nicer  under  the  circumstance  —  and  the  curtain 

32 


CINDERELLA 

goes  down  on  a  glass  slipper  stuck  on  the  toes  of 
two  tiny  feet  and  a  cockney  Cinderella,  quite  con- 
tent. 

"  Well,"  Jean  drew  a  long  breath.  *-  It  was  the 
loveliest  ever,  Daddy/'  she  said,  as  he  helped  her 
with  her  cloak. 

And  it  was  while  she  stood  there  in  that  cloak 
of  heavenly  blue  that  the  young  man  in  the  box 
looked  down  and  saw  her. 

He  batted  his  eyes. 

Of  course  she  wasn't  real . 

But  when  he  opened  them,  there  she  was,  smiling 
up  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  helped  her  into 
that  heavenly  garment. 

It  came  to  him,  quite  suddenly,  that  his  father 
had  bowed  to  the  man  —  the  big  man  with  the 
classic  head  and  the  air  of  being  at  ease  with  him- 
self and  the  world. 

He  did  things  to  the  velvet  and  ermine  wrap  that 
he  was  holding,  which  seemed  to  satisfy  its  owner, 
then  he  gripped  his  father's  arm.  "  Dad,  who  is 
that  big  man  down  there  —  with  the  red  head  — 
the  one  who  bowed  to  you?  " 

"  Dr.  McKenzie,  Bruce  McKenzie,  the  nerve  spe- 
cialist — " 

Of  course  it  was  something  to  know  that,  but  one 
didn't  get  very  far. 

"  Let's  go  somewhere  and  eat,"  said  the  General, 
and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  Out  of  the  tail  of  his 
33 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

eye,  Berry  Drake  saw  the  two  figures  with  the  cop- 
per-colored heads  move  down  the  aisle,  to  be  finally 
merged  into  the  indistinguishable  stream  of  hu- 
manity which  surged  towards  the  door. 

Jean  and  her  father  did  not  go  to  supper  at  the 
big  hotel  around  the  corner  as  was  their  custom. 

"  I've  got  to  get  to  the  hospital  before  twelve," 
the  Doctor  said.  "  I  am  sorry,  dear  — " 

"  It  doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference.  I  don't 
want  to  eat,"  she  settled  herself  comfortably  be- 
side him  in  the  car.  "  Oh,  it  is  snowing,  Daddy, 
how  splendid  — " 

He  laughed.  "  You  little  bundle  of  —  ecstasy  — 
what  am  I  going  to  do  with  you?  " 

"  Love  me.     And  isn't  the  snow  —  wonderful?  " 

"  Yes.     But  everybody  doesn't  see  it  that  way." 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  do.  I  should  hate  to  see  noth- 
ing in  all  this  miracle,  but  —  slush  tomorrow  — " 

"Yet  a  lot  of  life  is  just  —  slush  tomorrow — . 
I  wish  you  need  never  find  that  out  — ." 

When  Jean  went  into  the  house,  and  her  father 
drove  on,  she  found  Hilda  waiting  up  for  her. 

"  Father  had  to  go  to  the  hospital." 

"  Did  you  have  anything  to  eat?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  I  might  cook  some  oysters." 

"  I  am  really  not  hungry."     Then  feeling  that 
her  tone  was  ungracious,  she  tried  to  make  amends. 
"  It  was  nice  of  you  to  think  of  it  — " 
34 


CINDERELLA 

"  Your  father  may  like  them.  I'll  have  them  hot 
for  him." 

Jean  lingered  uncertainly.  She  didn't  want  the 
food,  but  she  hated  to  leave  the  field  to  Hilda.  She 
unfastened  her  cloak,  and  sat  down.  "  How  are 
you  going  to  cook  them?  " 

"  Panned  —  with  celery." 

"It  sounds  good  —  I  think  I'll  stay  down, 
Hilda," 

"  As  you  wish." 

The  Doctor,  coming  in  with  his  coat  powdered 
with  snow,  found  his  daughter  in  a  big  chair  in 
front  of  the  library  fire. 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  in  bed." 

"  Hilda  has  some  oysters  for  us." 

"Fine  —  I'm  starved." 

She  looked  at  him,  meditatively,  "  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  be." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  on  such  a  night  as  this,  Daddy?  Food 
seems  superfluous." 

He  sat  down,  smiling.  "  Don't  ever  expect  to 
feed  any  .man  over  forty  on  star-dust.  Hilda  knows 
better,  don't  you,  Hilda?  " 

Hilda  was  bringing  in  the  tray.  There  was  a 
copper  chafing-dish  and  a  percolator.  She  wore 
her  nurse's  outfit  of  white  linen.  She  looked  well 
in  it,  and  she  was  apt  to  put  it  on  after  dinner, 
when  she  was  in  charge  of  the  office. 
35 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  You  know  better  than  to  feed  a  man  on  star- 
dust,  don't  you?  "  the  Doctor  persisted. 

Hilda  lifted  the  cover  of  the  chafing-dish  and 
stirred  the  contents.  "Well,  yes,"  she  smiled  at 
him,  "you  see,  I  have  lived  longer  than  Jean. 
She'll  learn." 

"  I  don't  want  to  learn,"  Jean  told  her  notly. 
"  I  want  to  believe  that  —  that  — "  Words  failed 
her. 

"That  men  can  live  on  star-dust?"  her  father 
asked  gently.  "  Well,  so  be  it.  We  won't  quarrel 
with  her,  will  we,  Hilda?  " 

The  oysters  were  very  good.  Jean  ate  several 
with  healthy  appetite.  Her  father,  twinkling, 
teased  her,  "  You  see  — ?  " 

She  shrugged,  "All  the  same,  I  didn't  need 
them." 

Hilda,  putting  things  back  on  i,he  tray,  remarked : 
"  There  was  a  message  from  Mrs.  Witherspoon. 
Her  son  is  on  leave  for  the  week  end.  She  wants 
you  for  dinner  on  Saturday  night  —  both  of  you." 

Doctor  McKenzie  tapped  a  finger  on  the  table 
thoughtfullfy,  "  Oh,  does  she?  Do  you  want  to  go, 
Jeanie?  " 

"Yes.     Don't  you?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.     I  should  like  to  build  a  fence 
about  you,  my  dear,  and  never  let  a  man  look  over. 
Ralph  Witherspoon  wants  to  marry  her,  Hilda, 
what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 
36 


CINDERELLA 

"Well,  why  not?"  Hilda  laid  her  long  hands 
flat  on  the  table,  leaning  on  them. 

Jean  felt  little  prickles  of  irritability.  "  Be- 
cause I  don't  want  to  get  married,  Hilda." 

Hilda  gave  her  a  sidelong  glance,  "  Of  course  you 
do.  But  you  don't  know  it." 

She  went  out  with  her  tray.  Jean  turned,  white- 
faced,  to  her  father,  "  I  wish  she  wouldn't  say  such 
things  — " 

"  My  dear,  I  am  afraid  you  don't  quite  do  her 
justice." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  won't  talk  about  her.  I've  got  to 
go  to  bed,  Daddy." 

She  kissed  him  wistfully.  "  Sometimes  I  think 
there  are  two  of  you,  the  one  that  likes  me,  and  the 
one  that  likes  Hilda." 

With  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  he  gave  an  easy 
laugh.  "  Who  knows?  But  you  mustn't  have  it 
on  your  mind.  It  isn't  good  for  you." 

"  I  shall  always  have  you  on  my  mind  — ." 

"  But  not  to  worry  about,  baby.  I'm  not  worth 
it  — ." 

Hilda  came  in  with  the  evening  paper.  "  Have 
you  read  it,  Doctor?  " 

"  No."  He  glanced  at  the  headlines  and  his  face 
grew  hard.  "  More  frightfulness,"  he  said,  storm- 
ily.  "  If  I  had  my  way,  it  should  be  an  eye  for  an 
eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.  For  every  man  they  have 
tortured,  there  should  be  one  of  their  men  —  tor- 
37 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

tured.  For  every  child  mutilated,  one  of  theirs  — 
mutilated.  For  every  woman  — ." 

He  stopped.  Jean  had  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 
"Don't,  Daddy,"  she  said  thickly,  "it  makes  me 
afraid  of  you."  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  smoothed  her  hair  in 
silence.  Over  her  head  he  glanced  at  Hilda.  She 
was  smiling  inscrutably  into  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  III 

DRUSILLA 

THE  thing  that  Berry  Drake  had  on  his  mind  the 
next  morning  was  a  tea-cup.  There  were  other 
things  on  his  mind  —  things  so  heavy  that  he  turned 
with  relief  to  the  contemplation  of  cups. 

Stuck  all  over  the  great  house  were  cabinets  of 
china  —  his  father  had  collected  and  his  mother 
had  prized.  Derry,  himself,  had  not  cared  for  any 
of  it  until  this  morning,  but  when  Bronson,  the  old 
man  who  served  him  and  had  served  his  father  for 
years,  came  in  with  his  breakfast,  Derry  showed 
him  a  broken  bit  which  he  had  brought  home  with 
him  two  nights  before.  "  Have  we  a  cup  like  this 
anywhere  in  the  house,  Bronson?  " 

"  There's  a  lot  of  them,  sir,  in  the  blue  room,  in 
the  wall  cupboard." 

"  I  thought  so,  let  me  have  one  of  them.  If  Dad 
ever  asks  for  it,  send  him  to  me.  He  broke  the 
other,  so  it's  a  fair  exchange." 

He  had  it  carefully  wrapped  and  carried  it  down- 
town with  him.  The  morning  was  clear,  and  the 
sun  sparkled  on  the  snow.  As  he  passed  through 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Dupont  Circle  he  found  that  a  few  children  and 
their  nurses  had  braved  the  cold.  One  small  boy 
in  a  red  coat  ran  to  Deny. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Cousin  Derry?  " 

"  Down  town." 

"  To-day  is  Margaret-Mary's  birf-day.  I  am  go- 
ing to  give  her  a  wabbit  — ." 

"Rabbit,  Buster.  You'd  better  say  it  quick. 
Nurse  is  on  the  way." 

"  Rab-yit.    What  are  you  going  to  give  her?  " 

"  Oh,  must  I  give  her  something?  " 

"  Of  course.  Mother  said  you'd  forget  it.  I 
wanted  to  telephone,  and  she  wouldn't  let  me." 

"Would  a  doll  do?" 

"I  shouldn't  like  a  doll.  But  she  is  littler. 
And  you  mustn't  spend  much  money.  Mother  said 
I  spent  too  much  for  my  rab-yit.  That  I  ought  to 
save  it  for  Our  Men.  And  you  mustn't  eat  what  you 
yike  —  we've  got  a  card  in  the  window,  and  there 
wasn't  any  bacon  for  bref-fus." 

"  Breakfast." 

"  Yes.    An'  we  had  puffed  rice  and  prunes  — " 

Nurse,  coming  up,  was  immediately  on  the  job. 
"  You  are  getting  mud  on  Mr.  Berry's  spats,  Teddy. 
Stand  up  like  a  little  gentleman." 

"He  is  always  that,  Nurse,  isn't  he?  And  I 
should  not  have  on  spats  at  this  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

Derry  smiled  to  himself  as  he  left  them.  He 
40 


DRUSILLA 

knew  that  Nurse  did  not  approve  of  him.  He  had 
a  way  as  it  were  of  aiding  and  abetting  Teddy. 

But  as  he  went  on  the  smile  faded.  There  were 
many  soldiers  on  the  street,  many  uniforms,  flags 
of  many  nations  draping  doorways  where  were 
housed  the  men  from  across  the  sea  who  were  work- 
ing shoulder  to  shoulder  with  America  for  the  win- 
ning of  the  war — .  Washington  had  taken  on  a 
new  aspect.  It  had  a  waked-up  look,  as  if  its  lazy 
days  were  over,  and  there  were  real  things  to  do. 

The  big  church  at  the  triangle  showed  a  Ked 
Cross  banner.  Within  women  were  making  ban- 
dages, knitting  sweaters  and  socks,  sewing  up  the 
long  seams  of  shirts  and  pajamas.  A  few  years  ago 
they  had  worshipped  a  Christ  among  the  lilies. 
They  saw  him  now  on  the  battlefield,  crucified 
again  in  the  cause  of  humanity. 

It  seemed  to  Derry  that  even  the  civilians  walked 
with  something  of  a  martial  stride.  Men,  who  for 
years  had  felt  their  strength  sapped  by  the  monot- 
ony of  Government  service,  were  revived  by  the 
winds  of  patriotism  which  swept  from  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  earth.  Women  who  had  lost  youth  and 
looks  in  the  treadmill  of  Departmental  life  held  up 
their  heads  as  if  their  eyes  beheld  a  new  vision. 

Street  cars  were  crowded,  things  were  at  sixes 

and  sevens ;  red  tape  was  loose  where  it  should  have 

been  tight  and  tight  where  it  should  have  been 

loose.     Little  men  with  the  rank  of  officer  sat  in 

41 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

swivel  chairs  and  tried  to  direct  big  things;  big 
men,  without  rank,  were  tied  to  the  trivial.  Many, 
many  things  were  wrong,  and  many,  many  things 
were  right,  as  it  is  always  when  war  comes  upon  a 
people  unprepared. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  clash  and  crash  and 
movement  and  achievement,  Derry  was  walking  to 
a  toy  shop  to  carry  a  tea-cup ! 

He  found  Miss  Emily  alone  in  the  big  front  room. 

She  did  not  at  once  recognize  him. 

"  You  remember  I  was  in  here  the  other  night  — 
and  you  wouldn't  sell  —  tin  soldiers  — ." 

She  flushed  a  little.     "  Oh,  with  your  father?  " 

"  Yes.     He's  a  dear  old  chap  — ." 

It  was  the  best  apology  he  could  make,  and  she 
loved  him  for  it. 

He  brought  out  the  cup  and  set  it  on  the  counter. 
"It  is  like  yours?" 

"  Yes/ '    But  she  did  not  want  to  take  it. 

"  Please.  I  brought  it  on  purpose.  We  have  a 
dozen." 

"  Of  these?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  it  will  break  your  set." 

"We  have  oodles  of  sets.  Dad  collects  —  you 
know —  There  are  dishes  enough  in  the  house  to 
start  a  crockery  shop." 

She  glanced  at  him  curiously.  It  was  hard  to 
reconcile  this  slim  young  man  of  fashion  with  the 
42 


DRUSILLA 

shabby  boy  of  the  other  night.  But  there  were  the 
lad's  eyes,  smiling  into  hers ! 

"  I  should  like,  too,  if  you  don't  mind,  to  find  a 
toy  for  a  very  little  girl.  It  is  her  birthday,  and  I 
had  forgotten." 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  forget,"  Miss  Emily  told  him, 
"  children  care  so  much." 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  before,  but  I  had  so  much 
on  my  mind." 

She  brought  forth  the  Lovely  Dreams  —  "  They 
have  been  a  great  success." 

He  chose  at  once  a  rose-colored  cat  and  a  yellow 
owl.  The  cat  was  carved  impressionistically  in  a 
series  of  circles.  She  was  altogether  celestial  and 
comfortable.  The  owl  might  have  been  lighted  by 
the  moon. 

"  But  why?  "  Derry  asked,  "  a  rose-colored  cat?  " 

"  Isn't  a  white  cat  pink  and  puffy  in  the  firelight? 
And  a  child  sees  her  pink  and  puffy.  If  we  don't 
it  is  because  we  are  blind." 

"But  why  the  green  ducks  and  the  amethyst 
cows?" 

"  The  cows  are  coming  tinkling  home  in  the  twi- 
light—  the  green  ducks  swim  under  the  wallows. 
And  they  are  longer  and  broader  because  of  the 
lights  and  shadows.  That's  the  way  you  saw  them 
when  you  were  six." 

"  By  Jove,"  he  said,  staring,  "  I  believe  I  did." 

"  So  there's  nothing  queer  about  them  to  the 
43 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

children  —  you  ought  to  see  them  listen  when  Jean 
tells  them." 

Jean  — ! 

«  she  —  she  tells  the  children?  " 

"  Yes.  Charming  stories.  I  am  having  them  put 
in  a  little  pamphlet  to  go  with  the  toys." 

"  She's  Dr.  McKenzie's  daughter,  isn't  she?  I 
saw  her  last  night  at  the  play." 

"  Yes.  Such  a  dear  child.  She  is  usually  here 
in  the  afternoon." 

He  had  hoped  until  then  that  Jean  might  be  hid- 
den in  that  rear  room,  locked  up  with  the  dolls  in 
a  drawer,  tucked  away  in  a  box  —  he  had  a  blank 
feeling  of  the  futility  of  his  tea-cup  — 

Then,  suddenly,  the  gods  being  in  a  gay  mood, 
Jean  arrived ! 

At  once  his  errand  justified  itself.  She  wore  a 
gray  squirrel  jacket  and  a  hat  to  match  —  and  her 
crinkled  copper-colored  hair  came  out  from  under 
the  hat  and  over  her  ears.  She  carried  a  little  muff. 
Her  eyes  —  the  color  of  her  cheeks !  A  man  might 
walk  to  the  world's  end  for  less  than  this  — ! 

He  was  buying,  he  told  her,  pink  pussy  cats  and 
yellow  owls.  Had  she  liked  the  play  last  night? 
He  was  glad  that  she  adored  Maude  Adams.  He 
adored  —  Maude  Adams.  Did  she  remember 
"  Peter  Pan  "?  Yes,  he  had  gone  to  everything  — 
glorified  matine~es  —  glorified  everything !  Wasn't 
it  remarkable  that  his  father  knew  her  father? 
44 


DRUSILLA 

And  she  was  Jean  MeKenzie,  and  he  was  Derry 
Drake ! 

At  last  there  was  no  excuse  for  him  to  linger.  "  I 
shall  come  back  for  more  —  Lovely  Dreams,"  he 
told  Miss  Emily,  and  got  away. 

Alone  in  the  shop  the  two  women  looked  at  each 
other.  Then  Emily  said,  "  Jean,  darling,  how 
dreadful  it  must  be  for  him." 

"  Dreadful  —  » 

"  With  such  a  father  — ." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  —  the  other  night." 

"  Yes.     He  isn't  happy,  Jean." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  He  has  lonesome  eyes." 

"  Oh,  Emily." 

"  Well,  he  has,  and  it  must  be  dreadful." 

How  dreadful  it  was  neither  of  them  could  really 
know.  Derry,  having  lunched  with  a  rather  im- 
portant committee,  went  to  Drusilla  Gray's  in  the 
afternoon  for  a  cup  of  tea.  He  was  called  almost 
at  once  to  the  telephone.  Bronson  was  at  the  other 
end.  "  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Derry,  but  I  thought  you 
ought  to  know  — " 

Derry,  with  the  sick  feeling  which  always  came 
over  him  with  the  knowledge  of  what  was  ahead, 
said  steadily,  "  That's  all  right,  Bronson  —  which 
way  did  he  go?" 

"  He  took  the  Cabin  John  car,  sir.  I  tried  to  get 
on,  but  he  saw  me,  and  sent  me  back,  and  I  didn't 
45 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

like  to  make  a  scene.     Shall  I  follow  in  a  taxi?  " 
"  Yes ;  I'll  get  away  as  soon  as  I  can  and  call  you 
up  out  there." 

He  went  back  to  Drusilla.  "  Sing  for  me/'  he  said. 
Drusilla  Gray  lived  with  her  Aunt  Marion  in  an 
apartment  which  overlooked  Rock  Creek.  Marion 
Gray  occupied  herself  with  the  writing  of  books. 
Drusilla  had  varying  occupations.  Just  now  she 
was  interested  in  interior  decoration  and  in  the 
war. 

She  was  also  interested  in  trying  to  flirt  with 
Derry  Drake.  "  He  won't  play  the  game,"  she  told 
her  aunt,  "  and  that's  why  I  like  it  —  the  game,  I 
mean." 

"  You  like  him  because  he  hasn't  surrendered." 
"  No.  He  is  a  rather  perfect  thing  of  his  kind, 
like  a  bit  of  jewelled  Sevres  or  Sang  de  boeuf.  And 
he  doesn't  know  it.  And  that's  another  thing  in 
his  favor  —  his  modesty.  He  makes  me  think  of  a 
little  Austrian  prince  I  once  met  at  Palm  Beach; 
who  wore  a  white  satin  shirt  with  a  high  collar  of 
gold  embroidery,  and  white  kid  boots,  and  wonder- 
ful rings  —  and  his  nails  long  like  a  Chinaman's. 
At  first  we  laughed  at  him  —  called  him  effemi- 
nate — .  But  after  we  knew  him  we  didn't  laugh. 
There  was  the  blood  in  him  of  kings  and  rulers  — 
and  presently  he  had  us  on  our  knees.  And  Derry's 
like  that.  When  you  first  meet  him  you  look  over 
his  head ;  then  you  find  yourself  looking  up  — " 
46 


DRUSILLA 

Marion  smiled.     "  You've  got  it  bad,  Brasilia.'" 

"  If  you  think  I  am  in  love  with  him,  I'm  not. 
I'd  like  to  be,  but  it  wouldn't  be  of  any  use.  He's  a 
Galahad  —  a  pocket-edition  Galahad.  If  he  ever 
falls  in  love,  there'll  be  more  of  romance  in  it  than 
I  can  give  him." 

It  was  to  this  Brasilia  that  Berry  had  come.  He 
liked  her  immensely.  And  they  had  in  common  a 
great  love  of  music. 

She  had  tea  for  him,  and  some  rather  strange  lit- 
tle spiced  cakes  on  a  red  lacquer  tray.  There  was 
much  dark  blue  and  vivid  red  in  the  room,  with 
white  woodwork.  Brasilia  herself  was  in  unre- 
lieved red.  The  effect  was  startling  but  stimulat- 
ing. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  it,"  she  said,  "  the  red 
and  white  and  blue,  but  I  wanted  to  see  whether 
I  could  do  it.  And  Aunt  Marion  doesn't  care. 
The  red  things  can  all  be  taken  out,  and  the  rest 
toned  down.  But  I  have  a  feeling  that  a  man 
couldn't  sit  in  this  room  and  be  a  slacker." 

"  No,  he  couldn't,"  Berry  agreed.  "  You'd  better 
hang  out  a  recruiting  sign,  Brasilia." 

"  I  should  if  they  would  let  me.  The  best  I  can 
do  is  ask  them  to  tea  and  sing  for  them." 

It  was  right  here  that  Bronson's  message  had 
broken  in,  and  Berry,  coming  back  from  the  tele- 
phone, had  said,  "  Sing  for  me." 

Brasilia  lighted  two  red  candles  on  the  piano  in 
47 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

the  alcove.  She  began  with  a  medley  of  patriotic 
songs.  With  her  voice  never  soaring  above  a  re- 
pressed note,  she  managed  to  give  the  effect  of  cul- 
minating emotion,  so  that  when  she  reached  a  cli- 
max in  the  Marseillaise,  Derry  rose,  thrilled,  to  his 
feet. 

She  whirled  around  and  faced  him.  "  They  all  do 
that,"  she  said,  with  a  glowing  air  of  triumph. 
"  It's  when  I  get  them." 

"  Why  did  you  give  the  Marseillaise  last?  " 

"  It  has  the  tramp  in  it  of  marching  men  —  I  love 
it." 

"  But  why  not  the  '  Star  Spangled  Banner '?  " 

"  That's  for  sacred  moments.  I  hate  to  make  it 
common  —  but  I'll  sing  it  —  now  — " 

Still  standing,  he  listened.  Drusilla  held  her 
voice  to  that  low  note,  but  there  was  the  crash  of 
battle  in  the  music  that  she  made,  the  hush  of 
dawn,  the  cry  of  victory  — 

"  Dear  girl,  you  are  a  genius." 

"No,  I  am  not.  But  I  can  feel  things  —  and  I 
can  make  others  feel  — " 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  "  There's  a 
new  moon,"  she  said,  "  come  and  see  — " 

The  curtains  were  not  drawn,  and  the  apartment 
wras  high  up,  so  that  they  looked  out  beyond  the 
hills  to  a  sky  in  which  the  daylight  blue  had  faded 
to  a  faint  green,  and  saw  the  little  moon  and  one 
star. 

48 


DRUSILLA 

"  Derry,"  Drusilla  said,  softly.  "  Derry,  why 
aren't  you  fighting?  " 

It  was  the  question  he  had  dreaded.  He  had 
seen  it  often  in  her  eyes,  but  never  before  had  she 
voiced  it. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  Drusilla,  but  there's  a  reason 
—  a  good  one.  God  knows  I  would  go  if  I  could." 

The  passion  in  his  voice  convinced  her. 

"  Don't  you  know  I'd  be  in  it  if  I  had  my  way. 
But  I've  got  to  stay  on  the  shelf  like  the  tin  soldier 
in  the  fairy  tale.  Do  you  remember,  Drusilla? 
And  people  keep  asking  me  —  why?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  have  asked  it,  Derry?  " 

"  You  couldn't  know.  And  you  had  a  right  to 
ask  —  everybody  has  a  right  —  and  I  can't  answer." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  When  I 
was  a  little  girl,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  used  to  cry  — 
because  I  was  so  sorry  for  the  —  tin  soldier  — " 

"  Are  you  sorry  for  me,  Drusilla?  " 

"  Dreffly  sorry." 

They  stood  in  silence  among  the  shadows,  with 
only  the  red  candles  burning.  Then  Derry  said, 
heartily,  "  You  are  the  best  friend  that  a  fellow 
ever  had,  Drusilla." 

And  that  was  as  far  as  he  would  play  the  game ! 


49 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   QUESTION 

WHATEVER  else  might  be  said  of  General  Drake, 
his  Bacchanalian  adventures  were  those  of  a  gen- 
tleman. Not  for  him  were  the  sinister  streets  and 
the  sordid  taverns  of  the  town.  When  his  wild 
moods  came  upon  him,  he  struck  out  straight  for 
open  country.  Up  hill  and  down  dale  he  trudged, 
a  knight  of  the  road,  finding  shelter  and  refresh- 
ment at  wayside  inns,  or  perchance  at  some  friendly 
farm. 

The  danger  lay  in  the  lawless  folk  whom  he 
might  meet  on  the  way.  Unshaven  and  unshorn  he 
met  them,  travelling  endlessly  along  the  railroad 
tracks,  by  highways,  through  woodland  paths. 
They  slept  by  day  and  journeyed  by  night.  By  re- 
versing this  program,  the  General  as  a  rule  avoided 
them.  But  not  always,  and  when  the  little  lad 
Derry  had  followed  his  strange  quests,  he  had  come 
now  and  then  upon  his  father,  telling  stories  to  an 
unsavory  circle,  lord  for  the  moment  of  them  all. 

"  Come,  Dad,"  Derry  would  say,  and  when  the 
men  had  growled  a  threat,  he  had  flung  defiance  at 
them.  "  My  mother's  motor  is  up  the  road  with 
50 


TEE  QUESTION 

two  men  in  it.  If  I  don't  get  back  in  five  minutes 
they  will  follow  me." 

The  General  had  always  been  tractable  in  the 
hands  of  his  son.  He  adored  him.  It  was  only  of 
late  that  he  had  found  anything  to  criticise. 

Derry,  driving  along  the  old  Conduit  road  in  the 
crisp  darkness,  wondered  how  long  that  restless 
spirit  would  endure  in  that  ageing  body.  He  shud- 
dered as  he  thought  of  the  two  men  who  were  his 
father  —  one  a  polished  gentleman  ruling  his  world 
by  the  power  of  his  keen  mind  and  of  his  money, 
the  other  a  self-made  vagabond  —  pursuing  an  aim- 
less course. 

The  stars  were  sharp  in  a  sable  sky,  the  river  was 
a  thin  line  of  silver,  the  hills  were  blotted  out. 

Bronson  was  waiting  by  the  big  bridge.  "  He  is 
singing  down  there,"  he  said,  "  on  the  bank.  Can 
you  hear  him?" 

Leaning  over  the  parapet,  Derry  listened.  The 
quavering  voice  came  up  to  him. 

"He  has  sounded  forth  the  —  trumpet  —  that  shall  never  call 

—  retreat  — 
He  is  sifting  out  the  —  hearts  of  men  —  before  his  judgment  — 

seat  — 
Oh,  be  sivift,  my  soul,  to  answer  him!    Be  jubilant,  my  feet  — '  " 

Poor  old  soldier,  beating  time  to  the  triumphant 
tune,  stumbling  over  the  words  —  held  pathetically 
to  the  memory  of  those  days  when  he  had  marched 
51 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

in  the  glory  of  his  youth,  strength  and  spirit  given 
to  a  mighty  cause ! 

The  pity  of  it  wrung  Derry's  heart.  "  Couldn't 
you  do  anything  with  him,  Bronson?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  tried,  but  he  sent  me  home.  Told  me 
I  was  discharged." 

They  might  have  laughed  over  that,  but  it  was 
not  the  moment  for  laughter.  In  the  last  twenty 
years,  the  General  had  discharged  Bronson  more 
than  once,  always  without  the  least  idea  of  being 
taken  at  his  word.  To  have  lost  this  faithful  serv- 
ant would  have  broken  his  heart. 

"  I  see.  It  won't  do  for  you  to  show  yourself 
just  now.  You'd  better  go  home,  and  have  his  hot 
bath  ready." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  bring  him,  Mr.  Derry?  " 

"  Sure,  Bronson,  thank  you." 

Bronson  walked  a  few  steps  and  came  back. 
"  It  is  freezing  cold,  sir,  you'd  better  take  the  rug 
from  the  car." 

Laden  thus,  Derry  made  his  way  down.  His 
flashlight  revealed  the  General,  a  humped-up  figure 
on  the  bank  of  a  little  frozen  stream. 

"  Go  home,  Derry,"  he  said,  as  he  recognized  his 
son.  "  I  want  to  sit  by  myself." 

His  tone  was  truculent. 

Derry  attempted  lightness.  "  You'll  be  a  lump 
of  ice  in  the  morning,  Dad.  We'd  have  to  chip  you 
off  in  chunks." 

52 


THE  QUESTION 

"You  go  home  with  Bronson,  son.  He  is  up 
there.  Go  home  — " 

He  had  once  commanded  a  brigade.  There  were 
moments  when  he  was  hard  pushed  that  he  remem- 
bered it. 

"  Go  home,  Derry." 

"  Not  till  you  come  with  me." 

"  I'm  not  coming." 

Derry  spread  his  rug  on  the  icy  ground.  "  Sit  on 
this  and  wrap  up  your  legs  —  you'll  freeze  out 
here." 

His  father  did  not  move.  "  I  am  puf-f eckly  com- 
fa'ble." 

The  General  rarely  got  his  syllables  tangled. 
Things  at  times  happened  to  his  legs,  but  he  usually 
controlled  his  tongue. 

"  I  am  puf-f  eckly  comf  a'ble  —  go  home,  Derry." 

"  I  can't  leave  you,  Dad." 

"  I  want  to  be  left." 

He  had  never  been  quite  like  this.  There  had 
been  moods  of  rebellion,  but  usually  he  had  yielded 
himself  to  his  son's  guidance. 

"  Dad,  be  reasonable." 

"  I'd  rather  sit  here  and  freeze  —  than  go  home 
with  a  —  coward." 

It  was  out  at  last.  It  struck  Derry  like  a  whip- 
lash. He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "You  don't  mean 
that,  Dad.  You  can't  mean  it." 

"  I  do  mean  it." 

53 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  am  not  a  coward,  and  you  know  it." 
"  Then  why  don't  you  go  and  fight?  " 
Silence!    The  only  sound  the  chuckle  of  living 
waters  beneath  the  ice  of  the  little  stream. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  and  fight  like  other  men?  " 
The  emphasis  was  insulting.     Derry  had  only 
one  idea  —  to  escape  from  that  taunting  voice. 
"You'll  be  sorry  for  this,  Dad,"  he  flung  out  at 
white  heat,  and  scrambled  up  the  bank. 

When  he  reached  the  bridge,  he  paused.  He 
couldn't  leave  that  old  man  down  there  to  die  of 
the  cold  —  the  wind  was  rising  and  rattled  in  the 
bare  trees. 

But  Berry's  blood  was  boiling.  He  sat  down  on 
the  parapet,  thick  blackness  all  about  him.  What- 
ever had  been  his  father's  shortcomings,  they  had 
always  clung  together  —  and  now  they  were  sep- 
arated by  words  which  had  cut  like  a  knife.  It 
was  useless  to  tell  himself  that  his  father  was  not 
responsible.  Out  of  the  heart  the  mouth  had 
spoken. 

And  there  were  other  people  who  felt  as  his 
father  did  —  there  had  been  Drusilla's  questions, 
the  questions  of  others  —  there  had  been,  too, 
averted  faces.  He  saw  the  little  figure  in  the  cloak 
of  heavenly  blue  as  she  had  been  the  other  night, 
— in  her  gray,  furs  as  she  had  been  this  morning — ; 
would  her  face,  too,  be  turned  from  him? 

Words    formed    themselves    in    his    mind.    He 
54 


THE  QUESTION 

yearned  to  toss  back  at  his  father  the  taunt  that 
was  on  his  lips.  To  fling  it  over  the  parapet,  to 
shout  it  to  the  world — ! 

He  had  never  before  felt  the  care  of  his  father  a 
sacrifice.  There  had  been  humiliating  moments, 
hard  moments,  but  always  he  had  been  sustained  by 
a  sense  of  the  Tightness  of  the  thing  that  he  was 
doing  and  of  its  necessity. 

Then,  out  of  the  darkness,  came  a  shivering  old 
voice,  "  Derry,  are  you  there?  " 

"  Yes,  Dad." 

"  Come  down  —  and  help  me  — " 

The  General,  alone  in  the  darkness,  had  suffered 
a  reaction.  He  felt  chilled  and  depressed.  He 
wanted  warmth  and  light. 

Mounting  steadily  with  his  son's  arm  to  sustain 
him,  he  argued  garrulously  for  a  sojourn  at  the 
nearest  hostelry,  or  for  a  stop  at  Chevy  Chase. 
He  would,  he  promised,  go  to  bed  at  the  Club,  and 
thus  be  rid  of  Brouson.  Bronson  didn't  know  his 
place,  he  would  have  to  be  taught  — 

Arriving  at  the  top,  he  was  led  to  Derry's  car. 
He  insisted  on  an  understanding.  If  he  got  in, 
they  were  to  stop  at  the  Club 

"  No,"  Derry  said,  "  we  won't  stop.  We  are  go- 
ing home.'* 

Derry  had  never  commanded  a  brigade.  But  he 
[had  in  him  the  blood  of  one  who  had.  He  pos- 
sessed also  strength  and  determination  backed  at 
55 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

the  moment  by  righteous  indignation.  He  lifted 
his  father  bodily,  put  him  in  the  car,  took  his  seat 
beside  him,  shut  the  door,  and  drove  off.  He  felt 
remarkably  cheered  as  they  whirled  along  at  top 
speed. 

The  General,  yielding  gracefully  to  the  inevi- 
table, rolled  himself  up  in  the  rugs,  dropped  his 
head  against  the  padded  cushions  and,  soothed  by 
the  warmth,  fell  asleep. 

He  waked  to  find  himself  being  guided  up  his 
own  stairway  by  Bronson  and  the  butler. 

"  Put  him  into  a  hot  bath,  Bronson,"  Derry  di- 
rected from  the  threshold  of  his  father's  room,  and 
the  General,  quite  surprisingly,  made  no  protest. 
He  had  his  bath,  hot  drinks  to  follow,  and  hot  water 
bags  in  his  bed.  When  he  drifted  off  finally,  into 
uneasy  dreams,  he  was  watched  over  by  Bronson  as 
if  he  had  been  a  baby. 

Derry,  looking  at  his  watch,  was  amazed  to  find 
that  the  evening  was  yet  early.  He  had  lived  emo- 
tionally through  a  much  longer  period  than  that 
marked  by  the  clocks. 

He  had  no  engagements.  He  had  found  himself 
of  late  shrinking  a  little  from  his  kind.  The  clubs 
and  the  hotels  were  crowded  with  officers.  Private 
houses,  hung  with  service  flags,  paid  homage  to 
men  in  uniform.  He  was  aware  that  he  was,  per- 
haps, unduly  sensitive,  but  it  was  not  pleasant  to 
56 


THE  QUESTION 

meet  the  inquiring  glance,  the  guarded  question. 
He  was  welcomed  outwardly  as  of  old.  But,  then, 
he  had  a  great  deal  of  money.  People  did  not  like 
to  offend  his  father's  son.  But  if  he  had  not  been 
his  father's  son?  What  then? 

He  dined  alone  and  in  state  in  the  great  dining 
room.  The  portraits  of  his  ancestors  looked  down 
on  him.  There  was  his  mother's  grandfather,  who 
had  the  same  fair  hair  and  strongly  marked  brows. 
He  had  been  an  officer  in  the  English  army,  and 
wore  the  picturesque  uniform  of  the  period.  There 
were  other  men  in  uniform  —  ancestors  — . 

But  of  what  earthly  use  was  an  ancestor  in  uni- 
form to  the  present  situation?  It  would  have  been 
better  to  have  inherited  Quaker  blood.  Derry 
smiled  whimsically  as  he  thought  how  different  he 
might  have  felt  if  there  had  been  benignant  men  in 
gray  with  broad-brimmed  hats,  staring  down. 

But  to  grant  a  man  an  inheritance  of  fighting 
blood,  and  then  deny  him  the  opportunity  to  exer- 
cise his  birthright,  was  a  sort  of  grim  joke  which 
he  could  not  appreciate. 

For  dessert  a  great  dish  of  fruit  was  set  before 
him.  He  chose  a  peach ! 

Peaches  in  November  I     The  men  in  the  trenches 

had  no  peaches,  no  squabs,  no  mushrooms,  no  ava- 

cados  —  for  them  bully  beef  and  soup  cubes,  a 

handful  of  dates,  or  by  good  luck  a  bit  of  chocolate. 

57 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

He  left  the  peach  untasted  —  he  had  a  feeling  that 
he  might  thus,  vicariously,  atone  for  the  hardships 
of  those  others  who  fought. 

After  dinner  he  walked  downtown.  Passing  Dr. 
McKenzie's  house  he  was  constrained  to  loiter. 
There  were  lights  upstairs  and  down.  Was  Jean 
McKenzie's  room  behind  the  two  golden  windows 
above  the  balcony?  Was  she  there,  or  in  the  room 
below,  where  shaded  lamps  shone  softly  among  the 
shadows? 

He  yearned  to  go  in  —  to  speak  with  her  —  to 
learn  her  thoughts  —  to  read  her  heart  and  mind. 
As  yet  he  knew  only  the  message  of  her  beauty. 
He  fancied  her  as  having  exquisite  sensibility, 
sweetness,  gentleness,  perceptions  as  vivid  as  her 
youth  and  bloom. 

The  front  door  opened,  and  Jean  and  her  father 
came  out.  Berry's  heart  leaped  as  he  heard  her 
laugh.  Then  her  clear  voice,  "  Isn't  it  a  wonderful 
night  to  walk,  Daddy?  "  and  her  father's  response, 
"  Oh,  you  with  your  ecstasies !  " 

They  went  briskly  down  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  Derry  found  himself  following,  found  him- 
self straining  his  ear  for  that  light  laugh,  found 
himself  wishing  that  it  were  he  who  walked  beside 
her,  that  her  hand  was  tucked  into  his  arm  as  it  was 
tucked  into  her  father's. 

Their  destination  was  a  brilliantly  illumined  pal 
ace  on  F  Street,  once  a  choice  little  playhouse,  now 
58 


THE  QUESTION 

given  over  to  screen  productions.  The  house  was 
packed,  and  Jean  and  her  father,  following  the 
flashlight  of  the  usher,  found  harbor  finally  in  a 
box  to  the  left  of  the  stage.  Derry  settled  himself 
behind  them.  He  was  an  eavesdropper  and  he 
knew  it,  but  he  was  loath  to  get  out  of  the  range  of 
that  lovely  laughter. 

Yet  observing  the  closeness  of  their  companion- 
ship he  felt  himself  lonely  —  they  seemed  so  satis- 
fied to  be  together  —  so  sufficient  without  any 
other.  Once  Dr.  McKenzie  got  up  and  went  out. 
When  he  came  back  he  brought  a  box  of  candy. 
Derry  heard  Jean's  "Oh,  you  darling — "  and 
thrilled  with  a  touch  of  jealousy. 

He  wondered  a  little  that  he  should  care  —  his 
experiences  with  women  had  heretofore  formed  gay 
incidents  in  his  life  rather  than  serious  epochs.  He 
had  carried  in  his  heart  a  vision,  and  the  girl  in  the 
Toy  Shop  had  seemed  to  make  that  vision  suddenly 
real. 

The  play  which  was  thrown  on  the  screen  had  to 
do  with  France ;  with  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  lover  who 
failed  her,  with  the  reincarnation  of  the  lover  and 
his  opportunity,  after  long  years,  to  redeem  himself 
from  the  blot  of  cowardice. 

In  the  stillness,  Derry  heard  the  quick-drawn 
breath  of  the  girl  in  front  of  him.  "Daddy,  1 
should  hate  a  man  like  that." 

"But,  my  dear—" 

59 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 
"  I  should  hate  him,  Daddy." 

The  play  was  over. 

The  lights  went  up,  and  Jean  stood  revealed. 
She  was  pinning  on  her  hat.  She  saw  Derry  and 
smiled  at  him.  "Daddy,"  she  said,  "it  is  Mr. 
Drake  —  you  know  him." 

Dr.  McKenzie  held  out  his  hand.  "  How  do  you 
do?  So  you  young  people  have  met,  eh?  " 

"  In  Emily's  shop,  Daddy.  He  —  he  came  to  buy 
my  Lovely  Dreams." 

The  two  men  laughed.  "As  if  any  man  could 
buy  your  dreams,  Jeanie,"  her  father  said,  "it 
would  take  the  wealth  of  the  world." 

"  Or  no  wealth  at  all,"  said  Derry  quickly. 

They  walked  out  together.  As  they  passed  the 
portal  of  the  gilded  door,  Derry  felt  that  the  mo- 
ment of  parting  had  come. 

"  Oh,  look  here,  Doctor,"  he  said,  desperately, 
"  won't  you  and  your  daughter  take  pity  on  me  — 
and  join  me  at  supper?  There's  dancing  at  the 
Willard  and  all  that  —  Miss  McKenzie  might  enjoy 
it,  and  it  would  be  a  life-saver  for  me." 

Light  leaped  into  Jean's  eyes.     "  Oh,  Daddy  — " 

"  Would  you  like  it,  dear?  " 

"  You  know  I  should.  So  would  you.  And  you 
haven't  any  stupid  patients,  have  you?  " 

"  My  patients  are  always  stupid,  Drake,  when 
they  take  me  away  from  her.  Otherwise  she  is 
CO 


TEE  QUESTION 

sorry  for  them."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  When 
I  get  to  the  hotel  I'll  telephone  to  Hilda,  and  she'll 
know  where  to  find  us." 

It  was  the  Doctor  who  talked  as  they  went  along 
—  the  two  young  people  were  quite  ecstatically 
silent.  Jean  was  between  her  father  and  Derry. 
As  he  kept  step  with  her,  it  seemed  to  him  that  no 
woman  had  ever  walked  so  lightly;  she  laughed  a 
little  now  and  then.  There  was  no  need  for  words. 

While  her  father  telephoned,  they  sat  together 
for  a  moment  in  the  corridor.  She  unfastened  her 
coat,  and  he  saw  her  white  dress  and  pearls.  "  Am 
I  fine  enough  for  an  evening  like  this?  "  she  asked 
him ;  "  you  see  it  is  just  the  dress  I  wear  at  home." 

"  It  seems  to  me  quite  a  superlative  frock  —  and 
I  am  glad  that  your  hat  is  lined  with  blue." 

"Why?" 

"  Your  cloak  last  night  was  heavenly,  and  now 
this  —  it  matches  your  eyes  — " 

"  Oh."     She  sat  very  still. 

"  Shouldn't  I  have  said  that?    I  didn't  think  — " 

"  I  am  glad  you  didn't  think  — " 

"Oh,  are  you?" 

"  Yes.  I  hate  people  who  weigh  their  words  — " 
The  color  came  up  finely  into  her  cheeks. 

When  Dr.  McKenzie  returned,  Derry  found  a 
table,  and  gave  his  order. 

Jean  refused  to  consider  anything  but  an  ice. 
"  She  doesn't  eat  at  such  moments,"  Doctor  Mc- 
61 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Kenzie  told  his  young  host.  "  She  lives  on  star- 
dust,  and  she  wants  nie  to  live  on  star-dust.  It  is 
our  only  quarrel.  She'll  think  me  sordid  because 
I  am  going  to  have  broiled  lobster." 

Derry  laughed,  yet  felt  that  it  was  after  all  a 
serious  matter.  His  appetite,  too,  was  gone.  He 
too  wanted  only  an  ice !  The  Doctor's  order  was, 
however,  sufficiently  substantial  to  establish  a  bal- 
ance. 

"May  I  dance  with  her?"  Derry  asked,  as  the 
music  brought  the  couples  to  their  feet. 

"  I  don't  usually  let  her.  Not  in  a  place  like  this. 
But  her  eyes  are  begging  —  and  I  spoil  her,  Drake." 

Curious  glances  followed  the  progress  of  the 
young  millionaire  and  his  pretty  partner.  But 
Derry  saw  nothing  but  Jean.  She  was  like  thistle- 
down in  his  arms,  she  was  saying  tremendously  in- 
teresting things  to  him,  in  her  lovely  voice. 

"  I  cried  all  through  the  scene  where  Cinderella 
sits  on  the  door-step.  Yet  it  really  wasn't  so  very 
sad  —  was  it?" 

"  I  think  it  was  sad.  She  was  such  a  little 
starved  thing  —  starved  for  love." 

"  Yes.  It  must  be  dreadful  to  be  starved  for 
love." 

He  glanced  down  at  her.  "  You  have  never  felt 
it?" 

"No,  except  after  my  mother  died  —  I  wanted 
her—" 

62 


TEE  QUESTION 

"  My  mother  is  dead,  too." 

The  Doctor  sat  alone  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
ate  his  lobster ;  he  ate  war  bread  and  a  green  salad, 
and  drank  a  pot  of  black  coffee,  and  was  at  peace 
with  the  world.  Star-dust  was  all  very  well  for 
those  young  things  out  there.  He  laughed  as  they 
came  back  to  him.  "  Each  to  his  own  joys  —  the 
lobster  was  very  good,  Drake." 

They  hardly  heard  him.  Jean  had  a  rosy  parfait 
with  a  strawberry  on  top.  Derry  had  another. 

They  talked  of  the  screen  play,  and  the  man  who 
had  failed.  If  he  had  really  loved  her  he  would 
not  have  failed,  Jean  said. 

"  I  think  he  loved  her,"  was  Derry's  opinion ; 
"  the  spirit  was  willing,  but  the  flesh  was  weak." 

Jean  shrugged.  "  Well,  Fate  was  kind  to  him  — 
to  give  him  another  chance.  Oh,  Daddy,  tell  him 
the  story  the  little  French  woman  told  at  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Medical  Association." 

"  You  should  have  heard  her  tell  it  —  but  I'll  do 
my  best.  Her  eloquence  brought  us  to  our  feet. 
It  was  when  she  was  in  Paris  —  just  after  the 
American  forces  arrived.  She  stopped  at  the  curb 
one  morning  to  buy  violets  of  an  ancient  dame. 
She  found  the  old  flower  vendor  inattentive  and, 
looking  for  the  cause,  she  saw  across  the  street  a 
young  American  trooper  loitering  at  a  corner. 
Suddenly  the  old  woman  snatched  up  a  bunch  of 
lilies,  ran  across  the  street,  thrust  them  into  the 
63 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

hands  of  the  astonished  soldier.  'Take  them, 
American,'  she  said.  'Take  the  lilies  of  France 
and  plant  them  in  Berlin.'  " 

"  Isn't  that  wonderful?  "  Jean  breathed. 

"Everything  is  wonderful  to  her,"  the  Doctor 
told  Deiry,  "  she  lives  on  the  heights." 

"  But  the  lilies  of  France,  Daddy  — !  Can't  you 
see  our  men  and  the  lilies  of  France?  " 

Derry  saw  them,  indeed, —  a  glorious  com- 
pany — ! 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man,"  Jean  said,  and  stopped. 
She  stole  a  timid  glance  at  him.  The  question  that 
he  had  dreaded  was  in  her  eyes. 

They  fell  into  silence.  Jean  finished  her  par- 
fait.  Derry's  was  untouched. 

Then  the  music  brought  them  again  to  their  feet, 
and  they  danced.  The  Doctor  smoked  alone.  Back 
of  him  somebody  murmured,  "  It  is  Derry  Drake." 

"  Confounded  slacker,"  said  a  masculine  voice. 
Then  came  a  wrarning  "  Hush,"  as  Derry  and  Jean 
returned. 

"  It  is  snowing,"  Derry  told  the  Doctor.  "  I  have 
ordered  my  car." 

Late  that  night  when  the  Doctor  rode  forth  again 
alone  in  his  own  car  on  an  errand  of  mercy,  he 
thought  of  the  thing  which  he  had  heard.  Then 
came  the  inevitable  question:  why  wasn't  Derry 
Drake  fighting? 


64 


CHAPTER  V 

• 

THE  SLACKER 

IT  was  at  the  Witherspoon  dinner  that  Jean  Mc- 
Kenzie  first  heard  the  things  that  were  being  said 
about  Derry. 

"  I  can't  understand,"  someone  had  remarked, 
"  why  Derry  Drake  is  staying  out  of  it." 

"  I  fancy  he'll  be  getting  in,"  Ralph  Witherspoon 
had  said.  "  Derry's  no  slacker." 

Ralph  could  afford  to  be  generous.  He  was  in 
the  Naval  Flying  Corps.  He  looked  extremely  well 
in  his  Ensign's  uniform,  and  he  knew  it;  he  was 
hoping,  in  the  spring,  for  active  service  on  the 
other  side. 

"  I  don't  see  why  Derry  should  fight.  I  don't  see 
why  any  man  should.  I  never  did  believe  in  getting 
into  other  people's  fusses." 

It  was  Alma  Drew  who  said  that.  Nobody  took 
Alma  very  seriously.  She  was  too  pretty  with  her 
shining  hair  and  her  sea-green  eyes,  and  her  way  of 
claiming  admiration. 

Jean  had  recognized  her  when  she  first  came  in 
as  the  girl  she  had  seen  descending  from  her  motor 
car  with  Derry  Drake  on  the  night  of  the  Secre- 
65 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

tarj's  dinner.  Alma  again  wore  the  diamond- 
encrusted  comb.  She  was  in  sea-green,  which 
matched  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  Alma  pursued,  "  I  should 
run  away." 

There  was  a  rustle  of  uneasiness  about  the  table. 
In  the  morning  papers  had  been  news  of  Italy  — 
disturbing  news;  news  from  Russia  —  Kerensky 
had  fled  to  Moscow  —  there  had  been  pictures  of 
our  men  in  gas  masks !  It  wasn't  a  thing  to  joke 
about.  Even  Alma  might  go  too  far. 

Kalph  relieved  the  situation.  "  Oh,  no,  you 
wouldn't  run  away,"  he  said ;  "  you  don't  do  your- 
self justice,  Alma.  Before  you  know  it  you  will  be 
driving  a  car  over  there,  and  picking  me  up  when  I 
fall  from  the  skies." 

"  Well,  that  would  be  —  compensation  — ." 
Alma's  lashes  flashed  up  and  fluttered  down. 

But  she  turned  her  batteries  on  Ralph  in  vain. 
Jean  McKenzie  was  on  the  other  side  of  him.  It 
would  never  be  quite  clear  to  him  why  he  loved 
Jean.  She  was  neither  very  beautiful  nor  very 
brilliant.  But  there  was  a  dearness  about  her. 
He  hardly  dared  think  of  it.  It  had  gone  very 
deep  with  him. 

He    turned    to    her.    Her    eyes    were    blazing. 
"  Oh,"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  "  how  can  she  say 
things  like  that?    If  I  knew  a  man  who  would  run 
away,  I'd  never  speak  to  him." 
66 


THE  SLACKER 

"  Of  course.  That's  why  I  fell  in  love  with  you 
-. —  because  you  had  red  blood  in  your  veins." 

It  was  the  literal  truth.  The  first  time  that 
Ralph  had  seen  Jean  McKenzie,  he  had  been  riding 
in  Eock  Creek  Park.  She,  too,  was  on  horseback. 
It  was  in  April.  War  had  just  been  declared,  and 
there  was  great  excitement.  Jean,  taking  the 
bridle  path  over  the  hills,  had  come  upon  a  band  of 
workers.  A  long-haired  and  seditious  orator  was 
talking  to  them.  Jean  had  stopped  her  horse  to 
listen,  and  before  she  knew  it  she  was  answering  the 
arguments  of  the  speaker.  Rising  a  little  in  her 
stirrups,  her  riding-crop  uplifted  to  emphasize  her 
burning  words,  her  cheeks  on  fire,  her  eyes  shining, 
her  hair  blowing  under  her  three-cornered  hat,  she 
had  clearly  and  crisply  challenged  the  patriotism  of 
the  speaker,  and  she  had  presented  to  Ralph's  ap- 
preciative eyes  a  picture  which  he  was  never  to 
forget. 

She  had  not  been  in  the  least  embarrassed  by  his 
arrival,  and  his  uniform  had  made  him  seem  at 
once  her  ally.  "  I  am  sure  this  gentleman  will  be 
glad  to  talk  to  you,"  she  had  said  to  her  little  audi- 
ence. "  I'll  leave  the  field  to  him,"  and  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile  she  had  ridden  off,  the  applause  of  the 
men  following  her. 

Ralph,  having  put  the  long-haired  one  to  rout, 
had  asked  the  men  if  they  knew  the  young  lady 
who  had  talked  to  them.  They  had,  it  seemed,  seen 
67 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

her  riding  with  Dr.  McKenzie.  They  thought  she 
was  his  daughter.  It  had  been  easy  enough  after 
that  to  find  Jean  on  his  mother's  visiting  list. 
Mrs.  Witherspoon  and  Mrs.  McKenzie  had  ex- 
changed calls  during  the  life-time  of  the  latter,  but 
they  had  lived  in  different  circles.  Mrs.  Wither- 
spoon had  aspired  to  smartness  and  to  the  friend- 
ship of  the  new  people  who  brought  an  air  of  sophis- 
tication to  the  staid  and  sedate  old  capital.  Mrs. 
McKenzie  had  held  to  old  associations  and  to  old 
ideals. 

Mrs.  Witherspoon  was  a  widow  and  charming. 
Dr.  McKenzie  was  a  widower  and  an  addition  to 
any  dinner  table.  In  a  few  weeks  the  old  acquaint- 
ance had  been  renewed.  Kalph  had  wooed  Jean 
ardently  during  the  short  furloughs  which  had  been 
granted  him,  and  from  long  distance  had  writ- 
.  ten  a  bit  cocksurely.  He  had  sent  flowers,  candy, 
books  and  then,  quite  daringly,  a  silver  trench 
ring. 

Jean  had  sent  the  ring  back.  "  It  was  dear  of 
you  to  give  it  to  me,  but  I  can't  keep  it." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  had  asked  when  he  next  saw  her. 

"  Because  — " 

"  Because  is  no  reason." 

She  had  blushed,  but  stood  firm.  She  was  very 
shy  —  totally  unawakened  —  a  little  dreaming  girl 
—  with  all  of  real  life  ahead  of  her  —  with  her  in- 
nocence a  white  flower,  her  patriotism  a  red  one. 
68 


THE  SLACKER 

If  only  he  might  wear  that  white  and  red  above  his 
heart. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Jean  resented,  sub-con- 
sciously, his  air  of  possession,  the  certainty  with 
which  he  seemed  to  see  the  end  of  his  wooing. 

"  You  can't  escape  me,"  he  had  told  her. 

"  As  if  I  were  a  rabbit,"  she  had  complained  aft- 
erwards to  her  father.  "When  I  marry  a  man  I 
don't  want  to  be  caught  —  I  want  to  run  to  him, 
with  my  arms  wide  open." 

"  Don't,"  her  father  advised ;  "  not  many  men 
would  be  able  to  stand  it.  Let  them  worship  you, 
Jeanie,  don't  worship." 

Jean  stuck  her  nose  in  the  air.  "  Falling  in  love 
doesn't  come  the  way  you  want  it.  You  have  to 
take  it  as  the  good  Lord  sends  it." 

"  Who  told  you  that?  " 

"  Emily  — " 

"  What  does  Emily  know  of  love?  " 

He  had  laughed  and  patted  her  hand.  He  was 
cynical  generally  about  romance.  He  felt  that  his 
own  perfect  love  affair  with  his  wife  had  been  the 
exception.  He  looked  upon  Emily  as  a  sentimental 
spinster  who  knew  practically  nothing  of  men  and 
women. 

He  did  not  realize  that  Emily  knew  a  great  deal 
about  dolls  that  laughed  and  cried  when  you  pulled 
a  string.     And  that  the  world  in  Emily's  Toy  Shop 
was  not  so  very  different  from  his  own. 
69 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Alma,  having  turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  Ralph, 
was  still  proclaiming  her  opinion  of  Derry  Drake  to 
the  rest  of  the  table.  "  He  is  rich  and  young  and 
he  doesn't  want  to  die  — " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  rich  young  men  dying, 
Alma,"  said  Mrs.  Witherspoon,  "  and  it  is  probably 
as  easy  for  them  as  for  the  poor  ones  — " 

"The  poor  ones  won't  mind  being  muddy  and 
dirty  in  the  trenches,"  said  Alma,  "but  I  can't 
fancy  Derry  Drake  without  two  baths  a  day  — " 

"  I  can't  quite  fancy  him  a  slacker."  There  was 
a  hint  of  satisfaction  in  Mrs.  Witherspoon's  voice. 
Her  son  and  Derry  Drake  had  gone  to  school  to- 
gether and  to  college.  Derry  had  outdistanced 
Kalph  in  every  way;  but  now  it  was  Ealph  who 
was  leaving  Derry  far  behind. 

Jean  wished  that  they  would  stop  talking.  She 
felt  as  she  might  had  she  seen  a  soldier  stripped  of 
sword  and  stripes  and  shamed  in  the  eyes  of  his 
fellows. 

"  Wasn't  he  in  the  draft?  "  she  asked  Ralph. 

"Too  old.  He  doesn't  look  it,  does  he?  It's  a 
bit  hard  for  the  rest  of  us  fellows  to  understand 
why  he  keeps  out  — " 

"  Doesn't  he  ever  try  to  —  explain?  " 

Ralph  shook  his  head.     "  Not  a  word.    And  he's 
beginning  to  stay  away  from  things.     You  see,  he 
knows  that  people  are  asking  questions,  and  you 
hear  what  they  are  calling  him?  " 
70 


THE  SLACKER 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  "  a  coward." 

"  Well,  not  exactly  that—" 

"  There  isn't  much  difference,  is  there?  " 

And  now  Alma's  cool  voice  summed  up  the  situ- 
ation. "A  man  with  as  much  money  as  that 
doesn't  have  to  be  brave.  What  does  he  care  about 
public  opinion?  After  the  war  everybody  will  for- 
give and  forget." 

Coolly  she  challenged  them  to  contradict  her. 
"  You  all  know  it.  How  many  of  you  would  dare 
cut  the  fellow  who  will  inherit  his  father's  mil- 
lions?" 

Mrs.  Witherspoon  tried  to  laugh  it  off ;  but  it  was 
true,  and  Alma  was  right.  They  might  talk  about 
Derry  Drake  behind  his  back,  but  they'd  never  omit 
sending  a  card  to  him. 

Jean  ate  her  duckling  in  flaming  silence,  ate  her 
salad,  ate  her  ice,  drank  her  coffee,  and  was  glad 
when  the  meal  ended. 

The  war  from  the  beginning  had  been  for  her  a 
sacred  cause.  She  had  yearned  to  be  a  man  that 
she  might  stand  in  the  forefront  of  battle.  She 
had  envied  the  women  of  Russia  who  had  formed 
a  Battalion  of  Death.  Her  father  had  laughed 
at  her.  "  You'd  be  like  a  white  kitten  in  a  dog 
fight." 

It  seemed  intolerable  that  tongues  should  be  busy 
with  this  talk  of  young  Drake's  cowardice.  He  had 
seemed  something  so  much  more  than  that.  And  he 
71 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

was  a  man  —  with  a  man's  right  to  leadership. 
What  was  the  matter  with  him? 

The  night  before  she  had  slept  little  —  Berry's 
voice  —  Berry's  eyes!  She  had  gone  over  every 
word  that  he  had  said.  She  had  risen  early  in  the 
morning  to  write  in  her  memory  book,  and  she  had 
drawn  a  most  entrancing  border  about  the  page, 
with  melting  strawberry  ice,  lilies  of  France,  Cin- 
derella slippers,  and  red-ink  lobsters,  rather  night- 
marishly  intermingled ! 

He  had  seemed  so  fine  —  so  —  she  fell  back  on 
her  much  overworked  word  wonderful  —  her  heart 
had  run  to  meet  him,  and  now  —  it  would  have  to 
run  back  again.  How  silly  she  had  been  not  to  see. 

After  dinner  they  danced  in  the  Long  Koom, 
which  was  rather  famous  from  a  decorative  point 
of  view.  It  was  medieval  in  effect,  with  a  balcony 
and  tapestries,  and  some  precious  bits  of  armor. 
There  was  a  lion-skin  flung  over  the  great  chair 
where  Mrs.  Witherspoon  was  enthroned. 

Between  dances,  Jean  and  Ealph  sat  on  the  bal- 
cony steps,  and  talked  of  many  things  which 
brought  the  red  to  Jean's  cheeks,  and  a  troubled 
light  into  her  eyes. 

And  it  was  from  the  balcony  steps  that,  as  the 
evening  waned,  she  saw  Berry  Brake  standing  in 
the  great  arched  doorway. 

There  was  a  black  velvet  curtain  behind  him 
72 


THE  SLACKER 

which  accentuated  his  fairness.  He  did  not  look 
nineteen.  Jean  had  a  fleeting  vision  of  a  certain 
steel  engraving  of  the  "Princes  in  the  Tower" 
which  had  hung  in  her  grandmother's  house. 
Derry  was  not  in  the  least  like  those  lovely  impris- 
oned boys,  yet  she  had  an  overwhelming  sense  of 
his  kinship  to  them. 

As  young  Drake's  eyes  swept  the  room,  he  was 
aware  of  Jean  on  the  balcony  steps.  She  was  in 
white  and  silver,  with  a  touch  of  that  heavenly  blue 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  her.  Her  crinkled  hair 
was  combed  quaintly  over  her  ears  and  back  from 
her  forehead.  He  smiled  at  her,  but  she  appar- 
ently did  not  see  him. 

He  made  his  way  to  Mrs.  Witherspoon.  "  I  was 
so  sorry  to  get  here  late.  But  my  other  engage- 
ments kept  me.  If  I  could  have  dined  at  two 
places,  you  should  have  had  at  least  a  half  of  me." 

"  We  wanted  the  whole.  You  know  Dr.  McKen- 
zie,  Derry?  " 

The  two  men  shook  hands.  "  May  I  dance  with 
your  daughter?  "  Derry  said,  smiling. 

"  Of  course.     She  is  up  there  on  the  stairs." 

Jean  saw  him  coming.  Ever  since  Derry  had 
stood  in  the  door  she  had  been  trying  to  make  up 
her  mind  how  she  would  treat  him  when  he  came. 
Somebody  ought  to  show  him  that  his  millions 
didn't  count.  She  hadn't  thought  of  his  millions 
73 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

last  night.  If  he  had  been  just  the  shabby  boy  of 
the  Toy  Shop,  she  would  have  liked  his  eyes  just  as 
much,  and  his  voice ! 

But  a  slacker  was  a  slacker!  A  coward  was  a 
coward !  All  the  money  in  the  world  couldn't  take 
away  the  stain.  A  man  who  wouldn't  fight  at  this 
moment  for  the  freedom  of  the  world  was  a  rene- 
gade !  She  would  have  none  of  him. 

He  came  on  smiling.  "  Hello,  Ralph.  Miss  Mc- 
Kenzie,  your  father  says  you  may  dance  with  me  — 
I  hope  you  have  something  left?  " 

The  blood  sang  in  her  ears,  her  cheeks  burned. 

"  I  haven't  anything  left  —  for  you  — "  The  em- 
phasis was  unmistakable. 

Even  then  he  did  not  grasp  what  had  happened 
to  him.  "  Ralph  will  let  me  have  one  of  his  —  be 
a  good  sport,  Ralph." 

"  Well,  I  like  that,"  Ralph  began.  Then  Jean's 
crisp  voice  stopped  him.  "  I  am  not  going  to  dance 
any  more  —  my  head  aches.  I  —  I  shall  ask 
Daddy  to  take  me  —  home  — " 

It  was  all  very  young  and  obvious.  Derry  gave 
her  a  puzzled  stare.  Ralph  protested.  "  Oh,  look 
here,  Jean.  If  you  think  you  aren't  going  to  dance 
any  more  with  me." 

"  Well,  I'm  not.  I  am  going  home.  Please  take 
me  down  to  Daddy." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  the  blurred  good- 
74 


"i  HAVEN'T  ANYTHING  LEFT  FOR  YOU" 


TEE  SLACKER 

byes  were  said,  and  Jean  was  alone  with  her  father 
in  the  cozy  comfort  of  the  closed  car. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Daddy?  " 

"  My  darling,  yes." 

"  May  I  live  with  you  always  —  to  the  end  of  my 


He  chuckled.     "  So  that  was  it?     Poor  Ralph ! ' 

"  You  know  you  are  not  sorry  for  him,  Daddy. 
Don't  be  a  hypocrite." 

He  drew  her  close  to  him.  "  I  should  be  sorry 
for  myself  if  he  took  you  from  me." 

She  clung  to  him.  "  He  is  not  going  to  take  me 
away." 

"  Was  that  what  you  were  telling  him  on  the 
balcony  stairs?  " 

"  Yes.  And  he  said  I  was  too  young  to  know  my 
own  mind.  That  I  was  a  sleeping  Princess  —  and 
some  day  he  would  wake  me  —  up  — " 

"  Oh." 

"  And  he  is  not  the  Prince,  Daddy.  There  isn't 
any  Prince." 

She  had  shut  resolutely  away  from  her  the  vision 
of  Derry  Drake  as  she  had  seen  him  on  the  night  of 
Cinderella.  She  would  have  no  white-feathered 
knight !  Princes  were  brave  and  rode  to  battle ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PROMISE 

IT  was  Alma  who  gave  Derry  Drake  the  key  to 
Jean's  conduct. 

"  Did  your  ears  burn?  "  she  asked,  as  they  danced 
together  after  Jean  and  her  father  had  gone. 

"When?" 

"  We  were  talking  about  you  at  dinner." 

"  I  hope  you  said  nice  things." 

"  I  did,  of  course."  Her  lashes  flashed  up  and 
fluttered  down  as  they  had  flashed  and  fluttered  for 
Ralph.  Every  man  was  for  Alma  a  possible  con- 
quest. Derry  was  big  game,  and  as  yet  her  little 
darts  had  not  pierced  him.  She  still  hoped,  how- 
ever. "  I  did,  but  the  rest  didn't." 

He  shrank  from  the  things  which  she  might  tell 
him.  "  What  did  they  say?  "  His  voice  caught. 

"I  shan't  tell  you.  But  it  was  about  the  war, 
and  your  not  fighting.  As  if  it  made  any  difference. 
You  are  as  brave  as  any  of  them." 

He  glanced  down  at  her  with  somber  eyes.    Quite 

unreasonably  he  hated  her  for  her  defense  of  him. 

If  all  women  defended  men  who  wouldn't  fight, 

what  kind  of  a  world  would  it  be?    Women  who 

76 


THE  PROMISE 

were  worth  anything  girded  their  men  for  battle. 

He  knew  now  the  reason  for  Jean's  high  head  and 
burning  cheeks,  and  in  spite  of  his  sense  of  agoniz- 
ing humiliation,  he  was  glad  to  think  of  that  high- 
held  head. 

For  such  women,  for  such  women  men  died ! 

But  not  for  women  like  Alma  Drew ! 

He  got  away  from  her  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
got  away  from  them  all.  He  had  a  morbid  sense  of 
whispering  voices  and  of  averted  glances.  He  fan- 
cied that  Mrs.  Witherspoon  touched  his  hand  coldly 
as  he  bade  her  "  good-night." 

Well,  he  would  not  come  again  until  he  could 
meet  their  eyes. 

It  was  a  perfectly  clear  night,  and  he  walked 
home.  With  his  face  turned  up  to  the  stars,  he 
told  himself  that  the  situation  was  intolerable  — 
tomorrow  morning,  he  would  go  to  his  father. 

When  he  reached  home,  his  father  was  asleep. 
Derry  looked  in  on  him  and  found  Bronson  sitting 
erect  and  wide-eyed  beside  a  night  lamp  which 
threw  the  rest  of  the  room  into  a  sort  of  golden 
darkness.  The  General  was  in  a  great  lacquered 
bed  which  he  had  brought  with  him  years  ago  from 
China.  Gilded  dragons  guarded  it  and  princes  had 
slept  in  it.  Heavy  breathing  came  from  the  bed. 

"  I  think  he  has  caught  cold,  sir,"  Bronson  whis- 
pered. "  I'm  a  bit  afraid  of  bronchitis." 

Derry's  voice  lacked  sympathy.  "I  shouldn't 
77 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

worry,  Bronson.  He  usually  comes  around  all 
right." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  hope  so,  sir,"  and  Bronson's  spare 
figure  rose  to  a  portentous  shadow,  as  he  preceded 
Derry  to  the  door. 

On  the  threshold  he  said,  "  Dr.  Richards  has 
gone  to  the  front.  Shall  I  call  Dr.  McKenzie  if  we 
need  someone  — ?  " 

"  Has  he  been  left  in  charge?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Derry  stood  for  a  moment  undecided.  "  I  sup- 
pose there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  call 
McKenzie.  Do  as  you  think  best,  Bronson." 

On  his  way  to  his  own  room,  Derry  paused  for  a 
moment  at  the  head  of  the  great  stairway.  His 
mother's  picture  hung  on  the  landing.  The  dress 
in  which  she  was  painted  had  been  worn  to  a  din- 
ner at  the  White  House  during  the  first  Cleveland 
Administration.  It  was  of  white  brocade,  with  its 
ostrich  feather  trimming  making  it  a  rather  regal 
robe.  It  had  tight  sleeves,  and  the  neck  was 
square.  Around  her  throat  was  a  wide  collar  of 
pearls  with  diamond  slides.  Her  fair  hair  was 
combed  back  in  the  low  pompadour  of  the  period, 
and  there  were  round  flat  curls  on  her  temples. 
The  picture  was  old-fashioned,  but  the  painted 
woman  was  exquisite,  as  she  had  always  been,  as 
she  would  always  be  in  Derry's  dreams. 

The  great  house  had  gjwn  to  the  General's  wife 
78 


THE  PROMISE 

her  proper  setting.  She  bad  trailed  her  satins  and 
silks  up  and  down  the  marble  stairway.  Her  slen- 
der hands,  heavy  with  their  rings,  had  rested  on  its 
balustrade,  its  mirrors  had  reflected  the  diamond 
tiara  with  which  the  General  had  crowned  her.  In 
the  vast  drawing  room,  the  gold  and  jade  and 
ivory  treasures  in  the  cabinets  had  seemed  none  too 
fine  for  this  greatest  treasure  of  them  all.  In  the 
dining  room  the  priceless  porcelains  had  been 
cheapened  by  her  greater  worth.  The  General  had 
travelled  far  and  wide,  and  he  had  brought  the 
wealth  of  the  world  to  lay  at  the  feet  of  his  young 
wife.  He  adored  her  and  he  adored  her  son. 

"  It  is  just  you  and  me,  Dewy,"  the  old  man  had 
said  in  the  first  moment  of  bereavement ;  "  we've  got 
to  stick  it  out  together  — " 

And  they  had  stuck  it  out  until  the  war  had  come, 
and  patriotism  had  flared,  and  the  staunch  old  sol- 
dier had  spurned  this  —  changeling. 

It  seemed  to  Derry  that  if  his  mother  could  only 
step  down  from  the  picture  she  might  make  things 
right  for  him.  But  she  would  not  step  down.  She 
would  go  on  smiling  her  gentle  painted  smile  as  if 
nothing  really  mattered  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

Thus,  with  his  father  asleep  in  the  lacquered  bed, 
and  his  mother  smiling  in  her  gilded  frame,  the  son 
stood  alone  in  the  great  shell  of  a  house  which  had 
in  it  no  beating  heart,  no  throbbing  soul  to  answer 
his  need. 

79 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Berry's  rooms  were  furnished  in  a  lower  key  than 
those  in  which  his  father's  taste  had  been  followed. 
There  were  gray  rugs  and  gray  walls,  some  old 
mahogany,  the  snuff-box  picture  of  Napoleon  over 
his  desk,  a  dog-basket  of  brown  wicker  in  a  corner. 

Muffin,  Berry's  Airedale,  stood  at  attention  as 
his  master  came  in.  He  knew  that  the  length  of 
his  sojourn  depended  on  his  manners. 

A  bright  fire  was  burning,  a  long  chair  slanted 
across  the  hearthrug.  Derry  got  into  a  gray  dress- 
ing gown  and  threw  himself  into  the  chair.  Muffin, 
with  a  solicitous  sigh,  sat  tentatively  on  his 
haunches.  His  master  had  had  no  word  for  him. 
Things  were  very  bad  indeed,  when  Derry  had  no 
word  for  his  dog. 

At  last  it  came.  "  Muffin  —  it's  a  rotten  old 
world." 

Muffin's  tail  beat  the  rug.  His  eager  eyes  asked 
for  more. 

It  came—"  Rotten." 

Derry  made  room  among  the  pillows,  and  Muf- 
fin curled  up  beside  him  in  rapturous  silence.  The 
fire  snapped  and  flared,  flickered  and  died.  Bron- 
son  tiptoed  in  to  ask  if  Derry  wanted  him.  Young 
Martin,  who  valeted  Derry  when  Bronson  would 
let  him,  followed  with  more  proffers  of  assistance. 

Derry  sent  them  both  away.  "I  am  going  to 
bed." 

But  he  did  not  go  to  bed.  He  read  a  letter  which 
80 


THE  PROMISE 

his  mother  had  written  before  she  died.  He  had 
never  broken  the  seal  until  now.  For  on  the  out- 
side of  the  envelope  were  these  words  in  fine  femi- 
nine script :  "  Not  to  be  opened  until  the  time 
comes  when  my  boy  Derry  is  tempted  to  break  hia 
promise." 

It  began,  "  Boy  dear  — " 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  make  you  understand  what 
it  is  so  necessary  that  you  should  understand?  It 
has  been  so  hard  all  of  these  years  when  your  clear 
little  lad's  eyes  have  looked  into  mine  to  feel  that 
some  day  you  might  blame  —  me.  Youth  is  so  un- 
compromising, Derry,  dear  —  and  so  logical  —  so 
demanding  of  —  justice.  And  life  isn't  logical  — 
or  just  —  not  with  the  sharp-edged  justice  which 
gives  cakes  to  the  good  little  boys  and  switches  to 
the  bad  ones.  And  you  have  always  insisted  on  the 
cakes  and  switches,  Derry,  and  that's  why  I  am 
afraid  of  you. 

"  Even  when  you  were  only  ten  and  I  hugged  you 
close  in  the  night  —  those  nights  when  we  were 
alone,  Derry,  and  your  father  was  out  on  some  wild 
road  under  the  moonlight,  or  perhaps  with  the  snow 
shutting  out  the  moon,  you  used  to  whisper,  '  But 
he  oughtn't  to  do  it,  Mother — '  And  I  knew  that 
he  ought  not,  but,  oh,  Derry,  I  loved  him,  and  do 
you  remember,  I  used  to  say,  '  But  he's  so  good  to 
us,  Laddie, —  and  perhaps  we  can  love  him  enough 
to  make  him  stop.' 

"  But  you  are  a  man  now,  Derry.  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  a  man  before  you  read  this,  for  my  little  boy 
will  obey  me  until  he  comes  to  man's  estate,  and 
81 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

then  he  may  say  '  She  was  only  a  foolish  loving 
woman,  and  why  should  I  be  bound? ' 

"  I  know  when  that  moment  comes  that  all  your 
fathers  money  will  not  hold  you.  You  will  not 
sell  your  soul's  honor  for  your  inheritance. 
Haven't  I  known  it  all  along?  Haven't  I  seen  you 
a  little  shining  knight  ready  to  do  battle  for  your 
ideals?  And  haven't  I  seen  the  clash  of  those 
ideals  with  the  reality  of  your  father's  fault? 

"  Well,  there's  this  to  think  of  now,  Derry,  now 
that  you  are  a  man  —  that  life  isn't  white  and  black, 
it  isn't  sheep  and  goats  —  it  isn't  just  good  people 
and  bad  people  with  a  great  wall  between.  Life  is 
gray  and  amethyst,  it  is  a  touch  of  dinginess  on 
the  fleece  of  the  whole  flock,  and  the  men  and  women 
whom  you  meet  will  be  those  whose  great  faults  are 
balanced  by  great  virtues  and  whose  little  mean- 
nesses are  contradicted  by  unexpected  generosities. 

"  I  am  putting  it  this  way  because  I  want  you  to 
realize  that  except  for  the  one  fault  which  has 
shadowed  your  father's  life,  there  is  no  flaw  in  him. 
Other  men  have  gone  through  the  world  apparently 
untouched  by  any  temptation,  but  their  families 
cpuld  tell  you  the  story  of  a  thousand  tyrannies, 
their  clerks  could  tell  you  of  selfishness  and  hard- 
ness, their  churches  and  benevolent  societies  could 
tell  you  of  their  lack  of  charity.  Oh,  there  are 
plenty  of  good  men  in  the  world,  Derry,  strong  and 
fine  and  big,  I  want  you  to  believe  that  always,  but 
I  want  you  to  believe,  too,  that  there  are  men  who 
struggle  continually  with  temptation  and  seem  to 
fail,  but  they  fight  with  an  enemy  so  formidable 
that  I,  who  have  seen  the  struggle,  have  shut  my 
eyes  —  afraid  to  look  — . 
82 


THE  PROMISE 

"  And  now  I  shall  go  back  to  the  very  beginning, 
and  tell  you  how  it  all  happened.  Your  father  was 
only  a  boy  when  the  Civil  War  broke  out.  He  came 
down  from  Massachusetts  with  a  regiment  which 
had  in  it  the  blood  of  the  farmers  who  fired  the 
shot  heard  round  the  world — .  He  felt  that  he 
was  fighting  for  Freedom  —  he  had  all  of  your 
ideals,  Derry,  plus,  perhaps,  a  few  of  his  own. 

"  You  know  how  the  war  dragged,  four  years  of 
it  —  and  much  of  the  time  that  Massachusetts  regi- 
ment was  in  swamp  and  field,  on  the  edge  of  fever- 
breeding  streams,  never  very  well  fed,  cold  in  win- 
ter, hot  in  summer. 

"  They  were  given  for  medicine  quinine  and  — 
whiskey.  It  kept  them  alive.  Sometimes  it  kept 
them  warm,  sometimes  it  lifted  them  above  reality 
and  granted  them  a  moment's  reckless  happiness. 

"  It  was  all  wrong,  of  course.  I  am  making  no 
plea  for  its  Tightness;  and  it  unchained  wild  beasts 
in  some  of  the  men.  Your  father  for  many  years 
kept  his  chained,  but  the  beasts  wrere  there. 

"  He  was  almost  fifty  when  I  married  him,  and 
he  was  not  a  General.  That  title  was  given  to  him 
during  the  Spanish  War.  I  was  twenty  when  I 
came  here  a  bride.  There  was  no  deception  on 
your  father's  part.  He  told  me  of  the  dragon  he 
fought  —  he  told  me  that  he  hoped  with  God's  help 
and  mine  to  conquer.  And  I  hoped,  too,  Derry. 
I  did  more  than  that.  I  was  so  sure  of  him  —  my 
King  could  do  no  wrong. 

"  But  the  day  came  when  he  went  on  one  of  those 
desolate  pilgrimages  where  you  and  I  so  often  fol- 
lowed in  later  years.  I  am  not  going  to  try  to  tell 
you  how  we  fought  together,  Derry;  how  I  learned 
83 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

with  such  agony  of  soul  that  a  man's  will  is  like 
wax  in  the  fire  of  temptation  —  oh,  Deny,  Derry  — . 

"  I  am  telling  you  this  for  more  reasons  than  one. 
What  your  father  has  been  you  might  be.  With  all 
your  ideals  there  may  be  in  you  some  heritage  of 
weakness,  of  appetite.  Wild  beasts  can  conquer 
you,  too,  if  you  let  them  in.  And  that's  why  I  have 
preached  and  prayed.  That's  why  I've  kept  you 
from  that  which  overcame  your  father.  You  are 
no  better,  no  stronger,  than  he  was  in  the  glory  of 
his  youth.  But  I  have  barred  the  doors  against 
the  flaming  dragon. 

"  I  have  no  words  eloquent  enough  to  tell  you  of 
his  care  of  me,  his  consideration,  his  devotion.  Yet 
nothing  of  all  this  helped  in  those  strange  moods 
that  came  upon  him.  Then  you  were  forgotten,  I 
was  forgotten,  the  world  was  forgotten,  and  he  let 
everything  go  — . 

"  I  have  kept  what  I  have  suffered  to  some  extent 
from  the  world.  If  people  have  pitied  they  have 
had  the  grace  at  least  not  to  let  me  see.  The  trag- 
edy has  been  that  you  should  have  been  sacrificed 
to  it,  your  youth  shadowed.  But  what  could  I  do? 
I  felt  that  you  must  know,  must  see,  and  I  felt,  too, 
that  the  salvation  of  the  father  might  be  accom- 
plished through  the  son. 

"  And  so  I  let  you  go  out  into  the  night  after  him, 
I  let  you  know  that  which  should,  perhaps,  have 
been  hidden  from  you.  But  I  loved  him,  Derry  — 
I  loved  you  —  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  both  of 
you. 

"  And  now  because  of  the  past,  I  plead  for  the 
future.  I  want  you  to  stay  with  him,  Derry.  No 
matter  what  happens  I  beg  that  you  will  stay  — 
84 


THE  PROMISE 

for  the  sake  of  the  boy  who  was  once  like  you,  for 
the  sake  of  the  man  who  held  your  mother  always 
close  to  his  heart,  for  the  sake  of  the  mother  who  in 
Heaven  holds  you  to  your  promise." 

The  great  old  house  was  very  still.  Somewhere 
in  a  shadowed  room  an  old  man  slept  heavily  with 
his  servant  sitting  stiff  and  straight  beside  him,  at 
the  head  of  the  stairway  a  painted  bride  smiled  in 
the  darkness,  the  dog  Muffin  stirred  and  whined. 

Berry's  head  was  buried  deep  in  the  cushion. 
His  hands  clutched  the  letter  which  had  cut  the 
knot  of  his  desperate  decision. 

No  —  one  could  not  break  a  promise  to  a  mother 
in  Heaven.  .  .  . 

He  waked  heavily  in  the  morning.  Bronson  was 
beside  his  bed.  "  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir, 
but  Dr.  McKenzie  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

"  McKenzie?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  had  to  call  him  last  night.  Your 
father  was  worse." 

"  Bring  him  right  in  here,  Bronson,  and  have 
some  coffee  for  us." 

When  Dr.  McKenzie  was  ushered  into  Derry's 
sitting  room,  he  found  a  rather  pale  and  languid 
young  man  in  the  long  chair. 

"  I  hated  to  wake  you,  Drake.  But  it  was  rather 
necessary  that  I  should  talk  your  father's  case  over 
with  you." 

" Is  he  very  ill?" 

85 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  It  isn't  that  —  there  are  complications  that  I 
don't  care  to  discuss  with  servants." 

"  You  mean  he  has  been  drinking?  " 

"Yes.  Heavily.  You  realize  that's  a  rather 
serious  thing  for  a  man  of  his  age." 

"  I  know  it.     But  there's  nothing  to  be  done." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  We've  tried  specialists  —  cures.  I've  been  half 
around  the  world  with  him." 

The  Doctor  nodded.  "  It's  hard  to  pull  up  at 
that  age." 

"  My  mother's  life  was  spent  in  trying  to  help 
him.  He's  a  dear  old  chap,  really." 

"  There  is,  of  course,  the  possibility  that  he  may 
get  a  grip  on  himself." 

Derry's  languor  left  him.  "  Do  you  think  there's 
the  least  hope  of  it?  Frankly?  No  platitudes?  " 

"  We  are  making  some  rather  interesting  experi- 
ments —  psycho-analysis  —  things  like  that  — " 

He  stood  up.  He  was  big  and  breezy.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you  this  morning?  You  ought  to 
be  up  and  out." 

Derry  flushed.     "Nothing  —  much." 

The  Doctor  sat  down  again.  "  I'd  tell  most  men 
to  take  a  cold  shower  and  a  two  hours'  tramp,  but 
it's  more  than  that  with  you  — ." 

"It's  a  case  of  suspended  activity.  I  want  to 
get  into  the  war  — " 

"Why  don't  you?" 

86 


THE  PROMISE 

"  I  can't  leave  Dad.     Surely  you  can  see  that." 

"  I  don't  see  it.  He  must  reap,  every  man 
must." 

"  But  there's  more  than  that.  My  mother  tied 
me  by  a  promise.  And  people  are  calling  me  a 
coward  —  even  Dad  thinks  I  am  a  slacker,  and  I 
can't  say  to  him,  '  If  you  were  more  than  the  half 
of  a  man  I  might  be  a  whole  one.' " 

"  Your  mother  couldn't  have  foreseen  this  war." 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference.  Her  world 
was  centered  in  him.  You  know,  of  course,  Doctor, 
that  I  wouldn't  have  spoken  of  this  to  anyone 
else—" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  father  confessor  to  half 
of  my  patients."  The  Doctor's  eyes  were  kind. 
"  My  lips  will  be  sealed.  But  if  you  want  my  advice 
I  should  throw  the  old  man  overboard.  Let  him 
sink  or  swim.  Your  life  is  your  own." 

"  It  has  never  been  my  own."  He  went  to  a  desk 
and  took  out  an  envelope.  "  It's  a  rather  sacred 
letter,  but  I  want  you  to  read  it  —  I  read  it  for  the 
first  time  last  night." 

When  at  last  the  Doctor  laid  the  letter  down, 
Derry  said  very  low,  "  Do  you  blame  me?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  she  had  no  right  to  ask  it." 

"  But  having  asked  — ?  " 

"  It  is  a  moving  letter,  and  you  loved  her  —  but  I 
still  contend  she  had  no  right  to  ask." 

"  I  gave  my  sacred  word." 
87 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  question  whether  any  promise  should  stand 
between  a  man  and  his  country's  need  of  him." 

They  faced  each  other.  "I  wonder—"  Derry 
said,  "I  —  I  must  think  it  over,  Doctor." 

"  Give  yourself  a  chance  if  you  do.  We  can  go 
too  far  in  our  sacrifice  for  others  — ."  He  resumed 
his  brisk  professional  manner.  "  In  the  meantime 
you've  a  rather  sick  old  gentleman  on  your  hands. 
You'd  better  get  a  nurse." 


88 


CHAPTER  VII 

HILDA 

THE  argument  came  up  at  breakfast  two  days  be- 
fore Thanksgiving.  It  was  a  hot  argument.  Jean 
beat  her  little  hands  upon  the  table.  Hilda's  hands 
were  still,  but  it  was  an  irritating  stillness. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Daddy?  » 

"Hilda  is  right.  There  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  go  to  extremes." 

"  But  a  turkey  — ." 

"  Nobody  has  said  that  we  shouldn't  have  a  turkey 
on  Thanksgiving  —  not  even  Hoover."  Hilda's 
voice  was  as  irritating  as  her  hands. 

"  Well,  we  have  consciences,  Hilda.  And  a 
turkey  would  choke  me." 

"  You  make  so  much  of  little  things." 

"Is  it  a  little  thing  to  sacrifice  our  appetites?"^ 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  very  big  thing."  The  office 
bell  rang,  and  Hilda  rose.  "  If  I  felt  as  you  do  I 
should  sacrifice  something  more  than  things  to  eat. 
I'd  go  over  there  and  nurse  the  wounded.  I  could 
be  of  real  service.  But  you  couldn't.  With  all 
your  big  ideas  of  patriotism  you  couldn't  do  one 
single  practical  thing." 

89 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

It  was  true,  and  Jean  knew  that  it  was  true,  but 
she  fired  one  more  shot.  "  Then  why  don't  you 
go?  "  she  demanded  fiercely. 

"  I  may,"  Hilda  said  slowly.  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  it.  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind." 

Dr.  McKenzie  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  "  I 
didn't  dream  you  felt  that  way." 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  mean  it  in  the  way  you  mean. 
I  should  go  because  there  was  something  worth  do- 
ing —  not  as  a  grandstand  play." 

She  went  out  of  the  room.    Jean  stared  after  her. 

The  Doctor  laughed.  "  She  got  you  there, 
girlie." 

"  Yes,  she  did.  Do  you  really  think  she  intends 
to  go,  Daddy?  " 

"  It  is  news  to  me." 

"  Good  news?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  She  is  a  very  valuable 
nurse.  I  should  hate  to  lose  her."  He  sat  for  a 
moment  in  silence,  then  stood  up.  "  I  shouldn't 
hold  out  for  a  turkeyless  Thanksgiving  if  I  were  you. 
It  isn't  necessary." 

"  Are  you  taking  Hilda's  part,  Daddy?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  of  course  not."  He  came  over  and 
kissed  her.  "Will  you  ride  with  me  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Oh,  yes  —  how  soon  ?  " 

"  In  ten  minutes.    After  I  see  this  patient." 

In  less  time  than  that  she  was  ready  and  waiting 
90 


HILDA 

for  him  in  her  squirrel  coat  and  hat  and  her  little 
muff. 

Her  father  surveyed  her.    "  Such  a  lovely  lady." 

"  Do  you  like  me,  Daddy?  " 

"  What  a  question  —  I  love  you." 

Safe  in  the  car,  with  the  glass  screen  shutting 
away  the  chauffeur,  Jean  returned  to  the  point  of 
attack. 

"  Hilda  makes  me  furious,  Daddy.  I  came  to 
talk  about  her." 

"  I  thought  you  came  because  you  wanted  to  ride 
with  me." 

"  Well,  I  did.     But  for  this,  too." 

Over  her  muff,  her  stormy  eyes  surveyed  him. 
"  You  think  I  am  unreasonable  about  meatless  and 
wheatless  days.  But  you  don't  know.  Hilda  ig- 
nores them,  Daddy  —  you  should  see  the  breadbox. 
And  the  other  day  she  ordered  a  steak  for  dinner, 
one  of  those  big  thick  ones  —  and  it  was  Tuesday, 
and  I  happened  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen  and  saw 
it  —  and  I  told  the  cook  that  we  wouldn't  have  it, 
and  when  I  came  up  I  told  Hilda,  and  she  laughed 
and  said  that  I  was  silly. 

"  And  I  said  that  if  she  had  that  steak  cooked  I 
would  not  eat  it,  and  I  should  ask  you  not  to  eat 
it,  and  she  just  stood  with  her  hands  flat  on  your 
desk,  you  know  the  way  she  does  —  I  hate  her 
hands  —  and  she  said  that  of  course  if  I  was  going 
to  make  a  fuss  about  it  she  wouldn't  have  the  steak, 
91 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

but  that  it  was  simply  a  thing  she  couldn't  under- 
stand. The  steak  was  there,  why  not  eat  it?  And 
I  said  it  was  because  of  the  psychological  effect  on 
other  people.  And  she  said  we  were  having  too 
much  psychology  and  not  enough  common  sense  in 
this  war ! 

"  Well,  after  that,  I  went  to  my  Red  Cross  meet- 
ing at  the  church.  I  expected  to  have  lunch  there, 
but  I  changed  my  mind  and  came  home.  Hilda  was 
at  the  table  alone,  and,  Daddy,  she  was  eating  the 
steak,  the  whole  of  it  — ."  She  paused  to  note  the 
effect  of  her  revelation. 

"Well?" 

"  She  was  eating  it  when  all  the  world  needs 
food!  She  made  me  think  of  those  dreadful  crea- 
tures in  the  fairy  books.  She's  —  she's  a  ghoul  — " 

"  My  dear." 

"  A  ghoul.  You  should  have  seen  her,  with  great 
chunks  of  bread  and  butter." 

"  Hilda  has  a  healthy  appetite." 

"  Of  course  you  defend  her." 

"  My  dear  child  — " 

"  Oh  you  do,  Daddy,  always,  against  me  —  and 
I'm  your  daughter  — " 

She  wept  a  tear  or  two  into  her  muff,  then  raised 
her  eyes  to  find  him  regarding  her  quizzically. 
"Are  you  going  to  spoil  my  ride?  " 

"  You  are  spoiling  mine." 

"  We  won't  quarrel  about  it.  And  we'll  stop  at 
92 


HILDA 

Small's.  Shall  it  be  roses  or  violets,  to-day,  my 
dear?" 

She  chose  violets,  as  more  in  accord  with  her 
pensive  mood,  lighting  the  bunch,  however,  with 
one  red  rose.  The  question  of  Hilda  was  not  set- 
tled, but  she  yielded  as  many  an  older  woman  has 
yielded  —  to  the  sweetness  of  tribute  —  to  man's 
impulse  to  make  things  right  not  by  justice  but  by 
the  bestowal  of  his  bounty. 

From  the  florist's,  they  went  to  Huyler's  old  shop 
on  F  Street,  where  the  same  girl  had  served  Jean 
with  ice-cream  sodas  and  hot  chocolate  for  fifteen 
years.  Administrations  might  come  and  adminis- 
trations go,  but  these  pleasant  clerks  had  been  cup- 
bearers to  them  all  —  Presidents'  daughters  and 
diplomats'  sons  —  the  sturdy  children  of  plain  Con- 
gressmen, the  scions  of  noble  families  across  the 
seas. 

It  was  while  Jean  sat  on  a  high  stool  beside  her 
father,  the  sunshine  shining  on  her  through  the 
wide  window,  that  Derry  Drake,  coming  down 
Twelfth,  saw  her ! 

Well,  he  wanted  a  lemonade.  And  the  fact  that 
she  was  there  in  a  gray  squirrel  coat  and  bunch  of 
violets  with  her  copper-colored  hair  shining  over 
her  ears  wasn't  going  to  leave  him  thirsty ! 

He  went  in.  He  bowed  to  the  Doctor  and  re- 
ceived a  smile  in  return.  Jean's  eyes  were  cold 
above  her  chocolate.  Derry  bought  his  check,  went 
93 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

to  a  little  table  on  the  raised  platform  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  drank  his  lemonade  and  hurried  out. 

"A  nice  fellow,"  said  the  Doctor,  watching  him 
through  the  window.  "  I  wonder  why  he  didn't  stop 
and  speak  to  us?  " 

"  I'm  glad  he  didn't." 

"  My  dear,  why?  " 

"  I've  found  out  things  — " 

"  What  things?  " 

"  That  he's  a  —  coward,"  with  tense  earnestness. 
"  He  won't  fight." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Everybody's  saying  it." 

"  Everybody  is  dead  wrong." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Daddy?  " 

"  What  I  have  just  said.  Everybody  is  dead 
wrong." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  A  doctor  knows  a  great  many  things  which  he 
is  not  permitted  to  tell.  I  am  rather  bound  not  to 
tell  in  this  case." 

"  Oh,  but  you  could  tell  me." 

"  Hardly  —  it  was  given  in  confidence." 

"  Did  he?    Oh,  Daddy,  did  he  tell  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  he  isn't  a  slacker?  " 

"  No." 

"I  knew  it—." 

"  You  didn't.    You  thought  he  was  a  coward." 
94 


HILDA 

"  Well,  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  He  looks 
brave,  doesn't  he?" 

"  I  shouldn't  call  him  exactly  a  heroic  figure." 

"Shouldn't  you?" 

She  finished  her  chocolate  in  silence,  and  followed 
him  in  silence  to  his  car.  They  sped  up  F  Street, 
gay  with  its  morning  crowd. 

Then  at  last  it  came.  "  Isn't  it  a  wonderful  day, 
Daddy?  " 

He  smiled  down  at  her.     "  There  you  go." 

"  Well,  it  is  wonderful."  She  fell  again  into  si- 
lence, then  again  bestowed  upon  him  her  raptures. 
"  Wouldn't  it  be  dreadful  if  we  had  loveless  days, 
Daddy,  as  well  as  meatless  ones  and  wheatless?  " 

That  night,  after  Jean  had  gone  to  bed,  the  Doc- 
tor, having  dismissed  his  last  patient,  came  out  of 
his  inner  office.  Hilda,  in  her  white  nurse's  cos- 
tume, was  busy  with  the  books.  He  stood  beside 
her  desk.  His  eyes  were  dancing.  "Jean  told 
me  about  the  steak." 

"  I  knew  she  would  —  I  suppose  it  was  an  awful 
thing  to  do.  But  I  was  hungry,  and  I  hate  fish  — " 
She  smiled  at  him  lazily,  then  laughed. 

He  laughed  back.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  un- 
bearable for  Hilda  to  go  hungry,  to  spoil  her  red 
and  white  with  abstinence. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  what  did  you  mean 
when  you  spoke  of  going  away?  " 

"  Haven't  you  been  thinking  of  going?  " 
95 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  color  came  up  in  his  cheeks.  "  Yes,  but  how 
did  you  know  it?  " 

"  Well,  a  woman  knows.  Why  don't  you  make 
up  your  mind?  " 

"  There's  Jean  to  think  of." 

"Emily  Bridges  could  take  care  of  her.  And 
you  ought  to  go.  Men  are  seeing  things  over  there 
that  they'll  never  see  again.  And  women  are." 

"  If  my  country  needs  me  — " 

Hilda  was  cold.  "  I  shouldn't  go  for  that.  As  I 
told  Jean,  I  am  not  making  any  grand  stand  plays. 
I  should  go  for  all  that  I  get  out  of  it,  the  experi- 
ence, the  adventure  — ." 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  curiosity.  Jean's 
words  of  the  afternoon  recurred  to  him.  "  She's  a 
ghoul—" 

Yet  there  was  something  almost  fascinating  in 
her  frankness.  She  tore  aside  ruthlessly  the  cur- 
tain of  self-deception,  revealing  her  motives,  as  if 
she  challenged  him  to  call  them  less  worthy  than 
his  own. 

"  If  I  go,  it  will  be  because  I  want  to  become  a 
better  nurse.  I  like  it  here,  but  your  practice  is 
necessarily  limited.  I  should  get  a  wider  view  of 
things.  So  would  you.  There  would  be  new  worlds 
of  disease,  men  in  all  conditions  of  nervous  shock." 

"  I  know.     But  I'd  hate  to  think  I  was  going 
merely  for  selfish  ends." 
96 


HILDA. 

She  shrugged.  "Why  not  that  as  well  as  any 
other?" 

He  had  a  smouldering  sense  of  irritation. 

"  When  I  am  with  Jean  she  makes  me  feel  rather 
big  and  fine ;  when  I  am  with  you  — "  He  paused. 

"  I  make  you  see  yourself  as  you  are,  a  man.  She 
thinks  you  are  more  than  that." 

All  his  laughter  left  him.  "  It  is  something  to 
be  a  hero  to  one's  daughter.  Perhaps  some  day  I 
shall  be  a  little  better  for  her  thinking  so." 

She  saw  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  "You 
mustn't  take  the  things  I  say  too  seriously." 

The  bell  of  the  telephone  at  her  elbow  whirred. 
She  put  the  receiver  to  her  ear.  "It  is  General 
Drake's  man ;  he  thinks  you'd  better  come  over  be- 
fore you  go  to  bed." 

"  I  was  afraid  I  might  have  to  go.  He  is  in 
rather  bad  shape,  Hilda." 

She  packed  his  bag  for  him  competently,  and 
telephoned  for  his  car.  "  I'll  have  a  cup  of  coffee 
ready  for  you  when  you  get  back,"  she  said,  as  she 
stood  in  the  door.  "  It  is  going  to  be  a  dreadful 
night." 

The  streets  were  icy  and  the  sleet  falling. 
"  You'd  better  have  your  overshoes,"  Hilda  decided, 
and  went  for  them. 

As  he  put  them  on,  she  stood  under  the  hall  light, 
smiling.  "  Have  you  forgiven  me?  "  she  asked  as 
he  straightened  up. 

97 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"For  telling  me  the  truth?  Of  course.  You 
take  such  good  care  of  me,  Hilda." 

Upstairs  in  her  own  room  Jean  was  writing  a 
letter.  It  was  a  very  pretty  room,  very  fresh  and 
frilly  with  white  dimity  and  with  much  pink  and 
pale  lavender.  The  night-light  which  shone 
through  the  rose  taffeta  petticoats  of  a  porcelain 
lady  was  supplemented  at  the  moment  by  a  bed-side 
lamp  which  flung  a  ring  of  gold  beyond  Jean's  blot- 
ter to  the  edge  of  the  lace  spread.  For  Jean  was 
writing  in  bed.  All  day  her  mind  had  been  revolv- 
ing around  this  letter,  but  she  had  had  no  time  to 
write.  She  had  spent  the  afternoon  in  the  Toy 
Shop  with  Emily,  and  in  the  evening  there  had  been 
a  Red  Cross  sale.  She  had  gone  to  the  sale  with 
Kalph  Witherspoon  and  his  mother.  She  had  not 
been  able  to  get  out  of  going.  All  the  time  she  had 
talked  to  Ralph  she  had  thought  of  Derry.  She 
had  rather  hoped  that  he  might  be  there,  but  he 
wasn't. 

The  letter  required  much  thought.  She  tore  up, 
extravagantly,  several  sheets  of  note-paper  with 
tiny  embossed  thistles  at  the  top.  Doctor  Mc- 
Kenzie  was  intensely  Scotch,  and  he  was  entitled 
to  a  crest,  but  he  was  also  intensely  American,  and 
would  have  none  of  it.  He  had  designed  Jean's 
note-paper,  and  it  was  lovely.  But  it  was  also  ex- 
pensive, and  it  was  a  shame  to  waste  so  much  of  it 
on  Derry  Drake. 

98 


HILDA 

The  note  when  it  was  finished  seemed  very  simple. 
Just  one  page  in  Jean's  firm,  clear  script : 

"  Dear  Mr.  Drake :  — 

"  Could  you  spare  me  one  little  minute  tomor- 
row? I  shall  be  at  home  at  four.  It  is  very  impor- 
tant — to  me  at  least.  Perhaps  when  you  hear  what 
I  have  to  say,  it  will  seem  important  to  you.  I 
hope  it  may. 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  JEAN  MCKENZIE." 

She  read  it  over  several  times.  It  seemed  very 
stiff  and  inadequate.  She  sealed  it  and  stamped  it, 
then  in  a  panic  tore  it  open  for  a  re-reading.  She 
was  oppressed  by  doubts.  Did  nice  girls  ask  men 
to  come  and  see  them?  Didn't  they  wait  and  weary 
like  Mariana  of  the  Moated  Grange  — ?  "  He  com- 
eth  not,  she  said?" 

New  times !  New  manners !  She  had  branded  a 
man  as  a  coward.  She  had  condemned  him  un- 
heard. She  had  slighted  him,  she  had  listened 
while  others  slandered  —  why  should  she  care  what 
other  women  had  done?  Would  do?  Her  way  was 
clear.  She  owed  an  apology  to  Derry  Drake,  and 
she  would  make  it. 

So  with  a  new  envelope,  a  new  stamp,  the  note 
was  again  sealed. 

It  had  to  be  posted  that  night.  She  felt  that 
under  no  circumstance  could  she  stand  the  sus- 
pense of  another  day. 

99 


THE  TIN  SOLDIZR 

She  had  heard  her  father  go  out.  Hilda  was  com- 
ing up,  the  maids  were  asleep.  She  waited  until 
Hilda's  door  was  shut,  then  she  slipped  out  of  bed, 
tucked  her  toes  into  a  pair  of  sandals,  threw  a 
furry  motor  coat  around  her,  and  sped  silently 
down  the  stairs.  She  shrank  back  as  she  opened 
the  front  door.  The  sleet  rattled  on  the  steps,  the 
pavements  were  covered  with  white. 

The  mail-box  was  in  front  of  the  house.  She 
made  a  rush  for  it,  dropped  in  the  precious  letter, 
and  gained  once  more  the  haven  of  the  warm  hall. 

She  was  glad  to  get  back  to  her  room.  As  she 
settled  down  among  her  pillows,  she  had  a  great 
sense  of  adventure,  as  if  she  had  travelled  far  in  a 
few  moments. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  made  her  first  real 
excursion  into  the  land  of  romance.  She  found  her 
thoughts  galloping. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  her  silver  Persian,  Polly 
Ann,  lay  curled  on  her  own  gray  blanket. 

"  Polly  Ann,"  Jean  said,  "  if  he  doesn't  come,  I 
shall  hate  myself  for  writing  that  note." 

Polly  Ann  surveyed  her  sleepily. 

"  But  it  would  serve  me  right  if  he  didn't,  Polly 
Ann." 

She  turned  off  the  light  and  tried  to  sleep. 
Downstairs  the  telephone  rang.  It  rang,  too,  in 
Hilda's  room.  Hilda's  door  opened  and  shut. 
100 


HILDA 

She  came  across  the  hall  and  tapped  on  Jean's  door. 
"  May  I  come  in?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Your  father  has  just  telephoned,"  Hilda  said 
from  the  threshold,  "  that  General  Drake's  nurse  is 
not  well,  and  will  have  to  be  taken  off  the  case.  I 
shall  have  to  go  in  her  place.  There  is  a  great  short- 
age at  the  hospital.  Will  you  be  afraid  to  stay 
alone,  or  shall  I  wake  up  Ellen  and  have  her  sleep 
on  the  couch  in  your  dressing  room?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am  not  afraid,  Hilda.  Nothing  can 
happen  until  father  comes  back." 

As  Hilda  went  away,  Jean  had  a  delicious  feeling 
of  detachment.  She  would  be  alone  in  the  house 
with  her  thoughts  of  Derry. 

She  got  out  of  bed  to  say  her  prayers.  With 
something  of  a  thrill  she  prayed  for  Berry's  father. 
She  was  not  conscious  as  she  made  her  petitions  of 
any  ulterior  motive.  Yet  a  placated  Providence 
would,  she  felt  sure,  see  that  the  General's  sickness 
should  not  frustrate  the  plans  which  she  had  quite 
daringly  made  for  his  son. 


101 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

DERBY  had  dined  that  night  with  his  cousin,  Mar- 
garet Morgan.  Margaret's  husband  was  some- 
where in  France  with  Pershing's  divisions.  Mar- 
garet was  to  have  news  of  him  this  evening, 
brought  by  a  young  English  officer,  Dawson  Hewes, 
who  had  been  wounded  at  Ypres,  and  who  had  come 
on  a  recruiting  mission  among  his  countrymen  in 
America. 

The  only  other  guest  was  to  be  Brasilia  Gray. 

Derry  had  gone  over  early  to  have  the  twilight 
hour  with  Margaret's  children.  There  was  Theo- 
dore, the  boy,  and  Margaret-Mary,  on  the  edge  of 
three.  They  had  their  supper  at  five  in  the  nurs- 
ery, and  after  that  there  was  always  the  story  hour, 
with  nurse  safely  downstairs  for  her  dinner,  their 
mother,  lovely  in  a  low-necked  gown,  and  father 
coming  in  at  the  end.  For  several  months  their 
father  had  not  come,  and  the  best  they  could  do 
was  to  kiss  his  picture  in  the  frame  with  the  eagle 
on  it,  to  put  flowers  in  front  of  it,  and  to  say  their 
little  prayers  for  the  safety  of  men  in  battle. 

It  was  Cousin  Derry  who  dropped  in  now  at  the 
102 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

evening  hour.     He  was  a  famous  story-teller,  and 
they  always  welcomed  him  uproariously. 

Margaret  Morgan,  perhaps  better  than  any  other, 
knew  in  those  days  what  was  in  Derry's  heart. 
She  knew  the  things  against  which  he  had  strug- 
gled, and  she  had  rebelled  hotly.  "  Why  should  he 
be  sacrificed?  "  she  had  asked  her  husband  more 
than  once  during  the  three  years  which  had  pre- 
ceded America's  entrance  into  the  war.  "  He  wants 
to  be  over  there  driving  an  ambulance  —  doing  his 
bit.  Aunt  Edith  always  idealized  the  General,  and 
Derry  is  paying  the  price." 

"  Most  women  idealize  the  men  they  love,  honey- 
girl."  Winston  Morgan  was  from  the  South,  and  he 
drew  upon  its  store  of  picturesque  endearments  to 
express  his  joy  and  pride  in  his  own  Peggy.  "  And 
if  they  didn't  where  should  we  be?  " 

She  had  leaned  her  head  against  him.  "  I  don't 
need  to  idealize  you,"  she  had  said,  comfortably, 
"  but  the  General  is  different.  Aunt  Edith  made 
Derry  live  his  father's  life,  not  his  own,  and  it  has 
moulded  him  into  something  less  than  he  might  have 
been  if  he  had  been  allowed  more  initiative." 

Winston  had  shaken  his  head.  "  Discipline  is  a 
mighty  good  thing  in  the  Army,  Peggy,  and  it's  a 
mighty  good  thing  in  life.  Derry  Drake  is  as  hard 
as  steel,  and  as  finely  tempered.  If  he  ever  does 
break  loose,  he'll  be  all  the  more  dynamic  for  having 
held  himself  back." 

103 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Margaret,  conceding  all  that,  was  yet  constrained 
to  pour  out  upon  Derry  the  wealth  of  her  womanly 
sympathy.  It  was  perhaps  the  knowledge  of  this 
as  well  as  his  devotion  to  her  children  which 
brought  him  often  to  her  door. 

Tonight  she  was  sitting  on  a  low-backed  seat  in 
front  of  the  fire  with  a  child  on  each  side  of  her. 
She  was  in  white,  her  dark  hair  in  a  simple  shining 
knot,  a  little  pearl  heart  which  had  been  Captain 
Morgan's  parting  gift,  her  only  ornament. 

"Go  on  with  your  story,"  he  said,  as  he  came 
in.  "  I  just  want  to  listen  and  do  nothing." 

She  glanced  up  at  him.  He  looked  tired,  unlike 
himself,  depressed. 

"  Anything  the  matter?  " 

"  Father  isn't  well.  Dr.  McKenzie  has  taken  the 
case.  Richards  has  gone  to  the  front.  Bronson 
will  call  me  if  there  are  any  unfavorable  develop- 
ments." 

Margaret-Mary,  curled  up  like  a  kitten  in  the 
curve  of  Cousin  Derry's  arm,  was  exploring  his  vest 
pocket.  She  found  two  very  small  squares  of  Wash- 
ington taffy  wrapped  in  wax  paper,  one  for  herself 
and  one  for  Teddy.  It  was  Derry's  war-time  offer- 
ing. No  other  candies  were  permitted  by  Mar- 
garet's patriotism.  Her  children  ate  molasses  on 
their  bread,  maple  sugar  on  their  cereal.  Her  sol- 
dier was  in  France,  and  there  were  other  soldiers, 
not  one  of  whom  should  suffer  because  of  the  wan- 
104 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

ton  waste  of  food  by  the  people  who  stayed  softly  at 
home. 

"  You  tell  us  a  story,  Uncle  Berry,"  Teddy 
pleaded  as  he  ate  his  taffy. 

"  I'd  rather  listen  to  your  mother." 

"  They  are  tired  of  me,"  Margaret  told  him. 

"  We  are  not  ti-yard,"  her  small  son  enunciated 
carefully,  "  but  you  said  you  had  to  fix  the  f  owers." 

"  Well,  I  have.  May  I  turn  them  over  to  you, 
Derry?" 

"  For  a  minute.     But  you  must  come  back." 

She  came  back  presently,  to  find  the  lights  out 
and  only  the  glow  of  the  fire  to  illumine  faintly  the 
three  figures  on  the  sofa.  She  stood  unseen  in  the 
door  and  listened. 

"  And  so  the  Tin  Soldier  stood  on  the  shelf  where 
the  little  boy  had  put  him,  and  nothing  happened 
in  the  old,  old  house.  There  was  just  an  old,  old 
man,  and  walls  covered  with  old,  old  portraits,  and 
knights  in  armor,  and  wooden  trumpeters  carved 
on  the  door  who  blew  with  all  their  might,  *  Trutter- 
a-trutt,  Trutter-a-trutt ' — .  But  the  old  man  and 
the  portraits  and  the  wooden  trumpeters  had  no 
thought  for  the  Tin  Soldier  who  stood  there  on  the 
shelf,  alone  and  longing  to  go  to  the  war.  And  at 
last  the  Tin  Soldier  cried  out,  i  I  can't  stand  it.  I 
want  to  go  to  the  wars  —  I  want  to  go  to  the  wars ! ' 
But  nobody  listened  or  cared." 

"  Poor  'itte  sing,"  Margaret-Mary  crooned. 
105 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  If  I  had  been  there,"  Teddy  proclaimed,  "  I'd 
have  put  him  on  the  floor  and  told  him  to  run  and 
run  and  run !  " 

"  But  there  was  nobody  to  put  him  on  the  floor," 
said  Derry,  "  so  at  last  the  Tin  Soldier  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  '  I  will  go  to  the  wars,  I  will  go  to  the 
wars/  he  cried,  and  he  threw  himself  down  from 
the  shelf." 

The  story  stopped  suddenly.  "Go  on,  go  on," 
urged  the  little  voices  in  the  dark. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  that  was  the  end  of  it,  and 
that  the  Tin  Soldier  ran  away  to  the  wars,  to  help 
his  country  and  save  the  world  from  ruin.  But 
Fate  wasn't  as  kind  to  him  as  that.  For  when  the 
little  boy  came  again  to  the  old  house,  he  looked 
for  the  Tin  Soldier.  But  he  wasn't  on  the  shelf. 
And  he  looked  and  looked  and  the  old  man  looked, 
and  the  wooden  trumpeters  blew  out  their  cheeks, 
'  Trutter-a-trutt,  trutter-a-trutt  —  where  is  the  Tin 
Soldier?  —  trutter-a-trutt  — .' 

"  But  they  did  not  find  him,  for  the  Tin  Soldier 
had  fallen  through  a  crack  in  the  floor,  and  there 
he  lay  as  in  an  open  grave." 

Drusilla's  voice  was  heard  in  the  lower  hall,  and 
the  deeper  voice  of  Captain  Hewes.  Margaret  sped 
down  to  meet  them,  leaving  the  story,  reluctantly, 
in  that  moment  of  heart-breaking  climax. 

When  later  Derry  followed  her,  she  had  a  chance 
to  say,  "  I  hope  you  gave  it  a  happy  ending." 
106 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

"Oh,  did  you  hear?  Yes.  They  found  him  in 
time  to  send  him  away  to  war.  But  Hans  Ander- 
sen didn't  end  it  that  way.  He  knew  life." 

She  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  Was  this  the 
Derry  whose  supply  of  cheerfulness  had  seemed  in- 
exhaustible? Whose  persistent  optimism  had  been 
at  times  exasperating  to  his  friends? 

Throughout  the  evening  she  was  aware  of  his  de- 
pression. She  was  aware,  too,  of  the  mistake  which 
she  had  made  in  bringing  Derry  and  Captain  Hewes 
together. 

The  Captain  had  red  hair  and  a  big  nose.  But 
he  was  a  gentleman  in  the  fine  old  English  sense; 
he  was  a  soldier  with  but  one  idea,  that  every  physi- 
cally able  man  should  fight.  Every  sentence  that  he 
spoke  was  charged  with  this  belief,  and  every  sen- 
tence carried  a  sting  for  Derry. 

More  than  once  Peggy  found  it  necessary  to 
change  the  subject  frantically.  Drusilla  supple- 
mented her  efforts. 

But  gradually  the  Captain  s  manner  froze.  With 
a  sort  of  military  sixth  sense,  he  felt  that  he  had 
been  asked  to  break  bread  and  eat  salt  with  a 
slacker,  and  he  resented  it. 

After  dinner  Drusilla  sang  for  them.  Sensitive 
always  to  atmosphere,  she  soothed  the  Captain  with 
old  and  familiar  songs,  "  Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton," 
and  "  Believe  me  if  all  those  endearing  young 
charms/' 

107 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Then  straight  from  these  to  "  I'm  going  to  marry 
'Arry  on  the  Fifth  of  January." 

"Oh,  I  say  —  Harry  Lauder,"  was  Captain 
Hewes'  eager  comment.  "  I  heard  him  singing  to 
the  chaps  in  the  trenches  just  before  I  sailed  —  a 
little  stocky  man  in  a  red  kilt.  He'd  laugh,  and 
you'd  want  to  cry." 

Drusilla  gave  them  "Wee  Hoose  among  the 
Heather,"  with  the  touch  of  pathos  which  the  little 
man  in  the  red  kilt  had  imparted  to  it  as  he  had 
sung  it  in  October  in  New  York  before  an  audi- 
ence which  had  wept  as  it  had  welcomed  him. 

"  Queer  thing,"  Captain  Hewes  mused,  "  what  the 
war  has  done  to  him,  set  him  preaching  and  all  that." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  queer,"  Margaret  was  eager.  "  That 
is  one  of  the  things  the  war  is  doing,  bringing  men 
back  to  —  God  — "  A  sob  caught  in  her  throat. 

Drusilla's  hands  strayed  upon  the  keys,  and  into 
the  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic. 

"/  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch  fires  of  a  hundred  circling 

camps, 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and 

damps, 

I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  &i/  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps, 
His  day  is  marching  on  — " 

It  was  an  old  tune,  but  the  words  were  new  to 
Captain  Hewes  —  as  the  girl  chanted  them,  in  that 
repressed  voice  that  yet  tore  the  heart  out  of  him. 

"He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  re- 
treat, 

108 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment  seat, 
Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him,  be  jubilant  my  feet, 
Our  God  is  marching  on  — " 

The  Captain  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  chair.     His 

face  was  illumined. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  ejaculated,  "  that's  topping!  " 
Drusilla  stood  up  with  her  back  to  the  piano,  and 

sang  without  music. 

"  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea  — 
With  the  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me, 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on  — " 

She  wore  a  gown  of  sheer  dull  blue,  there  was  a 
red  rose  in  her  hair  —  her  white  arms,  her  white 
neck,  the  blue  and  red,  youth  and  fire,  strength  and 
purity. 

When  she  finished  the  room  was  very  still.  The 
big  Englishman  had  no  words  for  such  a  moment. 
The  music  had  swept  him  up  to  unexpected  heights 
of  emotion.  While  Drusilla  sang  he  had  glimpsed 
for  the  first  time  the  meaning  of  democracy,  he  had 
seen,  indeed,  in  a  great  and  lofty  sense,  for  the  first 
time  —  America. 

Among  the  shadows  a  young  man  shrank  in  his 
seat.  His  vision  was  not  of  Democracy,  but  of  a 
freezing  night  —  of  a  ragged  old  voice  rising  from 
the  blackness  of  a  steep  ravine  — 

"Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul  —  to  answer  —  Him  — 
Be  jubilant  my  feet  — " 
109 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Why  had  Drusilla  chosen  that  of  all  songs?  Oh, 
why  had  she  sung  at  all? 

A  maid  came  in  to  say  that  Mr.  Drake  was 
wanted  at  the  telephone.  The  message  was  from 
Dr.  McKenzie.  The  General  was  much  worse.  It 
might  be  well  for  Derry  to  come  home. 

So  Derry,  with  a  great  sense  of  relief,  got  away 
from  the  frigid  Captain,  and  from  the  flaming  Dru- 
silla, and  from  Peggy  with  her  flushed  air  of  apol- 
ogy, and  went  out  into  the  stormy  night.  He  had 
preferred  to  walk,  although  his  shoes  were  thin. 
"  It  isn't  far,"  he  had  said  when  Margaret  expostu- 
lated, "  and  I'll  send  my  car  for  Drusilla  and  Cap- 
tain Hewes." 

The  sleet  drove  against  his  face.  His  feet  were 
wet  before  he  reached  the  first  corner,  the  wind  buf- 
feted him.  But  he  felt  none  of  it.  He  was  con- 
scious only  of  his  depression  and  of  his  great  dread 
of  again  entering  the  big  house  where  a  sick  man 
lay  in  a  lacquered  bed  and  where  a  painted  lady 
smiled  on  the  stairs.  Where  there  was  nothing 
alive,  nothing  young,  nothing  with  lips  to  welcome 
him,  or  with  hands  to  hold  out  to  him. 

He  found  when  at  last  he  arrived  that  the  Doctor 
had  sent  for  Hilda  Merritt. 

She  came  presently,  in  her  long  blue  cloak  and 
small  blue  bonnet.  Hilda  made  no  mistakes  in  the 
matter  of  clothes.  She  realized  the  glamour  which 
110 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

her  nurse's  uniform  cast  over  her.  In  evening  dress 
she  was  slightly  commonplace.  In  ordinary  street 
garb  not  an  eye  would  have  been  turned  upon  her, 
but  the  nun's  blue  and  white  of  her  uniform  added 
the  required  spiritual  effect  to  her  rather  full- 
blown beauty. 

As  she  passed  the  painted  lady  at  the  head  of  the 
stairway  she  gave  her  a  slight  glance.  Then  on  and 
up  she  went  to  her  appointed  task. 

"  It  is  pneumonia,"  Dr.  McKenzie  told  Derry ; 
"  that's  why  I  wanted  Miss  Merritt.  She  is  very 
experienced,  and  in  these  days  of  war  it  is  hard  to 
get  good  nurses." 

Derry  found  his  voice  shaking.  "  Is  there  any 
danger?  " 

"  Naturally,  at  his  age.  But  I  think  we  are  going 
to  pull  him  through." 

Derry  went  into  the  shadowed  room.  His  father 
was  breathing  heavily.  Something  clutched  at  the 
boy's  heart  —  the  fear  of  the  Thing  which  lurked  in 
the  darkness  —  a  chill  and  sinister  figure  with  a 
skeleton  hand. 

He  could  not  have  his  father  die.  He  would  feel 
as  if  his  thoughts  had  killed  him  —  a  murderer  in 
intention  if  not  in  deed.  Not  thus  must  the  Ob- 
stacle be  removed.  He  raised  haggard  eyes  to  the 
Doctor's  face.  "  You  —  you  mustn't  think  that  I 
store  things  up  against  him.  He's  all  I  have." 
Ill 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  Doctor's  keen  glance  appraised  him.  "  Don't 
get  morbid  over  it ;  he  has  everything  in  his  favor  — 
and  Miss  Merritt  is  famous  in  such  cases." 

Hilda  took  his  praise  with  downcast  eyes.  Her 
manner  with  the  Doctor  when  others  were  present 
was  professionally  deferential.  It  was  only  when 
they  were  alone  that  the  nurse  was  submerged  in 
the  woman. 

With  her  bonnet  off  and  a  white  cap  in  its  place, 
she  moved  about  the  room.  "  I  shall  be  very  com- 
fortable," she  said,  when  Derry  inquired  if  any- 
thing could  be  done  for  her. 

"We  haven't  any  women  about  the  place  but 
Cook,"  he  explained.  "  She  has  been  in  our  family 
forever  — " 

"  I'll  put  a  day  nurse  on  tomorrow,"  the  Doctor 
said,  "  but  I  want  Hilda  with  him  at  night ;  she  can 
call  me  up  if  there's  any  change,  and  I'll  come  right 
over." 

When  the  Doctor  had  gone,  Derry,  seeking  his 
room,  found  Muffin  waiting.  Bronson  bustled  in 
to  see  that  his  young  master  got  out  of  his  wet 
clothes  and  into  a  hot  bath.  "All  the  time  the 
Doctor  was  talking  to  you,  I  was  worrying  about 
your  shoes.  Your  feet  are  soaked,  sir.  Whatever 
made  you  walk  in  the  rain?  " 

"  I  couldn't  ride  —  I  couldn't." 

The  old  man  on  his  knees  removing  the  wet  shoes 
looked  up.     "  Kestless,  sir?  " 
112 


THE  SHADOWED  ROOM 

"  Yes.  There  are  times,  Bronson,  when  I  want 
—  my  mother." 

He  could  say  it  in  this  room  to  Bronson  and  Muf- 
fin —  to  the  gray  old  dog  and  the  gray  old  man  who 
adored  him. 

Bronson  put  him  to  bed,  settled  Muffin  among  his 
blankets  in  a  basket  by  the  hot  water  pipes,  opened 
the  windows  wide,  said  "  God  bless  you,"  and  went 
away. 

"  Sweet  dreams,  Muffin,"  said  Derry  from  the  big 
bed. 

The  old  dog  whuffed  discreetly. 

It  was  their  nightly  ceremony. 

The  sleet  came  down  in  golden  streaks  against 
the  glow  of  the  street  lights.  Derry  lay  watching 
it,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  slept.  Not 
since  his  mother's  death  had  he  been  so  weighed 
down  with  heaviness. 

He  kept  seeing  Jean  with  her  head  up,  declining 
to  dance  with  him;  on  the  high  stool  at  the  con- 
fectioner's, her  eyes  cold  above  her  chocolate;  the 
English  Captain  and  his  contemptuous  stare ;  Alma, 
basely  excusing  him ;  Drusilla,  in  her  red  and  blue 
and  white  —  singing  — ! 

He  waked  in  the  morning  with  a  sore  throat. 
Young  Martin  came  in  to  light  the  fire  and  draw 
the  water  for  his  bath.  Later  Bronson  brought  his 
breakfast  and  the  mail. 

"  You'd  better  stay  in  bed,  Mr.  Derry." 
113 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  think  I  shall.     How  is  Dad  ?  " 

"  The  nurse  says  he  is  holding  his  own." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

Bronson,  feeding  warm  milk  and  toast  to  Muffin, 
ventured  an  opinion,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  the 
nurse,  sir." 

"Why  not?" 

"  She's  not  exactly  a  lady,  and  she's  not  exactly 
a  nurse." 

"  I  see."  Derry,  having  glanced  over  a  letter  or 
two,  had  picked  up  an  envelope  with  embossed 
thistles  on  the  flap.  "  But  she  is  rather  pretty, 
Bronson." 

"  Pretty  is  as  pretty  does,"  sententiously. 

Silence.  Bronson  looked  across  at  the  young 
man  propped  up  among  the  pillows.  He  was  re- 
reading the  letter  with  the  thistles  on  the  flap. 
The  strained  look  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes,  and  his 
lips  were  smiling. 

"  I  think  I'll  get  up." 

"  Changed  your  mind,  sir?  " 

"  Yes."  He  threw  back  the  covers.  "  I've  a  thou- 
sand things  to  do." 

But  there  was  just  one  thing  which  he  was  going 
to  do  which  stood  out  beyond  all  others.  Neither 
life  nor  death  nor  flood  nor  fire  should  keep  him 
from  presenting  himself  at  four  o'clock  at  Jean 
McKenzie's  door,  in  response  to  the  precious  note 
which  in  a  moment  had  changed  the  world  for  him. 
114 


CHAPTER  IX 

EOSE-COLOE ! 

JEAN  found  the  day  stretching  out  ahead  of  her 
in  a  series  of  exciting  events.  At  the  breakfast 
table  her  father  told  her  that  Hilda  would  stay  on 
General  Drake's  case,  and  that  she  had  better  have 
Emily  Bridges  up  for  a  visit. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  alone  at  night,  if  I  am 
called  away." 

"  It  will  be  heavenly,  Daddy,  to  have  Emily  — " 

And  how  was  he  to  know  that  there  were  other 
heavenly  things  to  happen?  She  had  resolved  that 
if  Derry  came,  she  would  tell  her  father  afterwards. 
But  he  might  not  come,  so  what  was  the  use  of  be- 
ing premature? 

She  sallied  down  to  the  Toy  Shop  in  high  feather. 
"  You  are  to  stay  with  us,  Emily." 

"  Oh,  am  I?  How  do  you  know  that  I  can  make 
it  convenient?" 

"  But  you  will,  darling." 

Jean's  state  of  mind  was  beatific.  She  painted 
Lovely  Dreams  with  a  touch  of  inspiration  which 
resulted  in  a  row  of  purple  camels.  "  Midnight  on 
the  Desert,"  Jean  called  them. 

"  Oh,  Emily,"  she  said,  "  we  must  have  them  in 
115 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

the  window  on  Christmas  morning,  with  the  Wise 
Men  and  the  Star  — " 

Emily,  glancing  at  the  face  above  the  blue  apron, 
was  struck  by  the  radiance  of  it. 

"  Is  it  because  Hilda  is  away?  "  she  asked. 

"Is  what—  ?" 

"  Your  —  rapture." 

Jean  laughed.  "  It  is  because  Hilda  is  away, 
and  other  things.  But  I  can't  tell  you  now." 

Then  for  fear  Emily  might  be  hurt  by  her  secrecy, 
she  flew  to  kiss  her  and  again  call  her  "  Darling." 

At  noon  she  put  on  her  hat  and  ran  home,  or  at 
least  her  heart  ran,  and  when  she  reached  the  house 
she  sought  the  kitchen. 

"  I  am  having  company  for  tea,  Ellen  —  at  four. 
And  I  want  Lady-bread-and-butter,  and  oh,  Ellen, 
will  you  have  time  for  little  pound  cakes?  " 

She  knew  of  course  that  pound  cakes  were  — 
verboten.  She  felt,  however,  that  even  Mr.  Hoover 
might  sanction  a  fatted  calf  in  the  face  of  this  su- 
preme event. 

She  planned  that  she  would  receive  Derry  in  the 
small  drawing  room.  It  was  an  informal  room 
which  had  been  kept  by  her  mother  for  intimate 
friends.  There  was  a  wide  window  which  faced 
west,  a  davenport  in  deep  rose  velvet,  some  chairs 
to  match,  and  there  were  always  roses  in  an  old 
blue  bowl. 

Jean  knew  the  dress  she  was  going  to  wear  in  this 
116 


ROSE-COLOR! 

room  —  of  blue  to  match  the  bowl,  with  silver  lace, 
and  a  girdle  of  pink  brocade. 

Alone  in  her  room  with  Polly-Ann  to  watch  pro- 
ceedings, she  got  out  the  lovely  gown. 

"  Oh,  I  do  want  to  be  pretty,  Polly -Ann,"  she 
said  with  much  wistful  ness. 

Yet  when  she  was  all  hooked  and  snapped  into  it, 
she  surveyed  herself  with  some  dissatisfaction  in 
the  mirror. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  the  mirror.  "Why 
shouldn't  I  wear  it?" 

The  mirror  gave  back  a  vision  of  beauty  —  but 
behind  that  vision  in  the  depths  of  limitless  space 
Jean's  eyes  discerned  something  which  made  her 
change  her  gown.  Quite  soberly  she  got  herself  into 
a  little  nun's  frock  of  gray  with  collars  and  cuft's 
of  transparent  white,  and  above  it  all  was  the  glory 
of  her  crinkled  hair. 

Neither  then  nor  afterwards  could  she  analyze 
her  reasons  for  the  change.  Perhaps  sub-con- 
sciously she  was  perceiving  that  this  meeting  with 
Derry  Drake  was  to  be  a  serious  and  stupendous 
occasion.  Throughout  the  world  the  emotions  of 
men  and  women  were  being  quickened  to  a  pace 
set  by  a  mighty  conflict.  Never  again  would  Jean 
McKenzie  laugh  or  cry  over  little  things.  She 
would  laugh  and  cry,  of  course,  but  back  of  it  all 
would  be  that  sense  of  the  world's  travail  and 
117 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

tragedy,  made  personal  by  her  own  part  in  it. 

Julia,  the  second  maid,  was  instructed  to  show 
Mr.  Drake  into  the  little  drawing  room.  Jean 
came  down  early  with  her  knitting,  and  sat  on  the 
deep-rose  Davenport.  The  curtains  were  not 
drawn.  There  was  always  the  chance  of  a  sunset 
view.  Julia  was  to  turn  on  the  light  when  she 
brought  in  the  tea. 

There  was  the  whir  of  a  bell,  the  murmur  of 
voices.  Jean  sat  tense.  Then  as  her  caller  en- 
tered, she  got  somewhat  shakily  on  her  feet. 

But  the  man  in  the  door  was  not  Derry  Drake ! 

In  his  intrusive  and  impertinent  green,  pinched-in 
as  to  waist,  and  puffed-out  as  to  trousers,  his  cheeks 
red  with  the  cold,  his  brown  eyes  bright  with  eager- 
ness, Ralph  Witherspoon  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"Of  all  the  good  luck,"  he  said,  "to  find  you 
in." 

She  shook  hands  with  him  and  sat  down. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  back  to  Bay  Shore. 
You  said  yesterday  you  were  going." 

"  I  got  my  orders  in  the  nick  of  time.  We  are  to 
go  to  Key  West.  I  am  to  join  the  others  on  the 
way  down." 

"How  soon?" 

He  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  davenport.  "  In 
three  days,  and  anything  can  happen  in  three  days." 

He  moved  closer.  She  had  a  sense  of  panic. 
Was  he  going  to  propose  to  her  again,  in  this  room 
118 


ROSE-COLOR! 

which  she  had  set  aside  so  sacredly  for  Derry 
Drake? 

"  Won't  you  have  some  tea?  "  she  asked,  desper- 
ately. "  Fll  have  Julia  bring  it  in." 

"  I'd  rather  talk." 

But  she  had  it  brought,  and  Julia,  wheeling  in  the 
tea-cart,  offered  a  moment's  reprieve.  And  Ralph 
ate  the  Lady-bread-and-butter,  and  the  little  pound 
cakes  with  the  nuts  and  white  frosting  which  had 
been  meant  for  Derry,  and  then  he  walked  around 
the  tea-cart  and  took  her  hand,  and  for  the  seventh 
time  since  he  had  met  her  he  asked  her  to  marry 
him. 

"  But  I  don't  love  you."    She  was  almost  in  tears. 

"  You  don't  know  what  love  is  —  I'll  teach  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  taught." 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  means  to  be  taught  — " 

Jean  had  a  stifling  sense  as  of  some  great  green 
tree  bending  down  to  crush  her.  She  put  out  her 
hand  to  push  it  away. 

In  the  silence  a  bell  whirred  — . 

Derry  Drake,  ushered  in  by  Julia,  saw  the  room 
in  the  rosy  glow  of  the  lamp.  He  saw  Ralph 
Witherspoon  towering  insolently  in  his  aviator's 
green.  He  saw  Jean,  blushing  and  perturbed. 
The  scene  struck  cold  against  the  heat  of  his  an- 
ticipation. 

He  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rose-colored  chairs,  and 
Julia  brought  more  tea  for  him,  more  Lady-bread- 
119 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

and-butter,  more  pound  cakes  with  nuts  and  frost- 
ing. 

Ralph  was  frankly  curious.  He  was  also  frankly 
jealous.  He  was  aware  that  Derry  had  met  Jean 
for  the  first  time  at  his  mother's  dinner  dance. 
And  Derry's  millions  were  formidable.  It  did  not 
occur  to  Ralph  that  Derry,  without  his  millions, 
was  formidable.  Ralph's  idea  of  a  man's  attract- 
iveness for  women  was  founded  on  his  belief  in 
their  admiration  of  good  looks,  and  their  liking 
for  the  possession  of,  as  he  would  himself  have  ex- 
pressed it,  "  plenty  of  pep "  and  "  go."  From 
Ralph's  point  of  view  Derry  Drake  was  not  hand- 
some, and  he  was  utterly  unaware  that  back  of 
Derry's  silver-blond  slenderness  and  apparent  lan- 
guidness  were  banked  fires  which  could  more  than 
match  his  own. 

And  there  was  this,  too,  of  which  he  was  uncon- 
scious, that  Derry's  millions  meant  nothing  to 
Jean.  Had  he  remained  the  shabby  son  of  the 
shabby  old  man  in  the  Toy  Shop,  her  heart  would 
still  have  followed  him. 

So,  fatuously  hopeful,  Ralph  stayed.  He  stayed 
until  five,  until  half -past  five.  Until  a  quarter  of  six. 

And  he  talked  of  the  glories  of  war ! 

Derry  grew  restless.  As  he  sat  in  the  rose-col- 
ored chair,  he  fingered  a  tassel  which  caught  back 
one  of  the  curtains  of  the  wide  window.  It  was  a 
120 


ROSE-COLOR! 

silk  tassel,  and  he  pulled  at  one  strand  of  it  until  it 
was  flossy  and  frayed.  He  was  unconscious  of  his 
work  of  destruction,  unconscious  that  Jean's  eyes, 
lifted  now  and  then  from  her  knitting,  noted  Ms 
fingers  weaving  in  and  out  of  the  rosy  strands. 

Ealph  talked  on.  With  seeming  modesty  he 
spoke  of  the  feats  of  other  men,  yet  none  the  less  it 
was  Ealph  they  saw,  poised  like  a  bird  at  incredible 
heights,  looping  the  loop,  fearless,  splendid  —  beat- 
ing the  air  with  strong  wings. 

Six  o'clock,  and  at  last  Ealph  rose.  Even  then 
he  hesitated  and  hung  back,  as  if  he  expected  that 
Derry  might  go  with  him.  But  Derry,  stiff  and 
straight  beside  the  rose-colored  chair,  bade  him  fare- 
well! 

And  now  Derry  was  alone  with  Jean ! 

They  found  themselves  standing  close  together  in 
front  of  the  fire.  The  garment  of  coldness  and  of 
languor  which  had  seemed  to  enshroud  Derry  had 
dropped  from  him.  The  smile  which  he  gave  Jean 
was  like  warm  wine  in  her  veins. 

"  Well  —  ?" 

"  I  asked  you  to  come  —  to  say  —  that  I  am  — 
sorry — ,"  her  voice  breaking.  "Daddy  told  me 
that  he  knew  why  —  you  couldn't  fight  — " 

"  I  didn't  intend  that  he  should  tell." 

"He  didn't,"  eagerly,  "not  your  reasons.  He 
said  it  was  a  —  confidence,  and  he  couldn't  break 
121 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

his  word.  But  he  knew  that  you  were  brave. 
That  the  things  the  world  is  saying  are  all  wrong. 
Oh,  I  ought  to  go  down  on  my  knees." 

Her  face  was  white,  her  eyes  deep  wells  of  tears. 

"  It  is  I,"  he  said,  very  low,  "  who  should  be  on 
my  knees  —  do  you  know  what  it  means  to  me  to 
have  you  tell  me  this?  " 

"  I  wasn't  sure  that  I  ought  to  write.  To  some 
men  I  couldn't  have  written  — " 

His  face  lighted.  "When  your  note  came  —  I 
can't  tell  you  what  it  meant  to  me.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  think  of  what  this  day  would  have  been  for 
me  if  you  had  not  written.  Everybody  is  calling 
me  —  a  coward.  You  know  that.  You  heard 
Witherspoon  just  now  pitying  me,  not  in  words,  but 
his  manner." 

"  Oh,  Kalph,"  how  easily  she  disposed  of  him. 
"  Ralph  crows,  like  a  —  rooster." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  tried  to  laugh. 
But  they  were  not  laughing  in  their  hearts. 

He  lifted  her  hand  and  kissed  it  —  then  he  stood 
well  away  from  her,  anchoring  himself  again  to  the 
silken  tassel.  "  Now  that  you  know  a  part,"  he 
said,  from  that  safe  distance,  "  I'd  like  to  tell  you 
all  of  it,  if  I  may." 

As  he  talked  her  fingers  were  busy  with  her  knit- 
ting, but  there  came  moments  when  she  laid  it  down 
and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  that  mirrored  his 
own  earnestness. 

122 


ROSE-COLOR! 

"  It  —  it  hasn't  been  easy,"  he  said  in  conclusion, 
"  but  —  but  if  you  will  be  my  friend,  nothing  will 
be  hard." 

She  tried  to  speak  —  was  shaken  as  if  by  a  strong 
wind,  and  her  knitting  went  up  as  a  shield. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  crying,"  he  said,  and  was  on 
his  knees  beside  her. 

And  now  they  were  caught  in  the  tide  of  that 
mighty  wave  which  was  sweeping  the  world ! 

When  at  last  she  steadied  herself,  he  was  again 
anchored  to  the  rose-colored  tassel. 

"  You  —  you  must  forgive  me  —  but  —  it  has 
been  so  good  to  talk  it  out  —  to  some  one  —  who 
cared.  I  had  never  dreamed  until  that  night  in 
the  Toy  Shop  of  anybody  —  like  you.  Of  any- 
body so  —  adorable.  When  your  note  came  this 
morning,  I  couldn't  believe  it.  But  now  I  know  it 
is  true.  And  that  night  of  Cinderella  you  were  so 
—  heavenly." 

It  was  a  good  thing  that  Miss  Emily  came  in  at 
that  moment  —  for  his  eloquence  was  a  burning 
flood,  and  Jean  was  swept  up  and  on  with  it. 

The  entrance  of  Emily,  strictly  tailored  and  prac- 
tical, gave  them  pause. 

"  You  remember  Mr.  Drake,  don't  you,  Emily?  " 

Emily  did,  of  course.  But  she  had  not  expected 
to  see  him  here.  She  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  re- 
member that  he  was  coming  back  for  more  of  your 
Lovely  Dreams." 

123 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"I  want  all  of  her  dreams,"  said  Derry,  and 
something  in  the  way  that  he  said  it  took  Miss 
Emily's  breath  away.  "  Please  don't  sell  them  to 
anyone  else.  You  have  a  wholesale  order  from 
me." 

Miss  Emily  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  She 
was  conscious  of  something  which  touched  the 
stars  —  something  which  all  her  life  she  had 
missed,  something  which  belongs  to  youth  and 
ecstasy. 

"  Wholesale  orders  are  not  in  my  line,"  she  said. 
"  You  can  settle  that  with  Jean." 

She  surveyed  the  tea-wagon.  "  I'm  starved. 
And  if  I  eat  I  shall  spoil  my  dinner." 

"  I  can  ring  for  hot  water,  Emily,  and  there  are 
more  of  the  pound  cakes." 

"  My  dear,  no.  I  must  go  upstairs  and  dress. 
Your  father  sent  for  my  bag,  and  Julia  says  it  is 
in  my  room." 

She  bade  Derry  a  cheerful  good-bye,  and  left 
them  alone. 

"  I  must  go,  too,"  said  Derry,  and  took  Jean's 
hand.  He  stood  looking  down  at  her.  "  May  I 
come  tomorrow?  " 

«0h,—  yes— » 

"  There's  one  thing  that  I  should  like  more  than 
anything,  if  we  could  go  to  church  together  —  to  be 
thankful  that  —  that  we've  found  each  other  — " 

Tears  in  the  shining  eyes ! 
124 


ROSE-COLOR! 

"  Why  are  you  crying?  " 

"  Because  it  is  so  —  sweet." 

"  Then  you'll  go?  " 

« I'd  love  it." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  got  away.  She  was 
little  and  young,  so  divinely  innocent.  He  felt  that 
he  must  not  take  unfair  advantage  of  that  mood  of 
exaltation. 

He  drove  straight  downtown  and  ordered  flowers 
for  her.  Remembering  the  nun's  dress,  he  sent 
violets  in  a  gray  basket,  with  a  knot  on  the  handle 
of  heavenly  blue. 

The  flowers  came  while  Jean  was  at  dinner. 
Emily  was  in  Hilda's  place,  a  quiet  contrast  in  her 
slenderness  and  modest  black  to  Hilda's  opulence. 
Dr.  McKenzie  had  not  had  time  to  dress. 

"  I  am  so  busy,  Emily." 

"  But  you  love  the  busy-ness,  don't  you?  I  can't 
imagine  you  without  the  hours  crammed  full." 

"  Just  now  I  wish  that  I  could  push  it  away  as 
Richards  pushed  it  — " 

Jean  looked  up.  "But  Dr.  Richards  went  to 
France,  Daddy." 

"  I  envy  him." 

"  Oh,  do  you  —  ?  "  Then  her  flowers  came,  and 
she  forgot  everything  else. 

The  Doctor  whistled  as  Julia  set  the  basket  in 
front  of  Jean.  "  Ralph  is  generous." 

Jean  had  opened  the  attached  envelope  and  was 
125 


ROSE-COLOR! 

reading  a  card.  A  wave  of  self-conscious  color 
swept  over  her  cheeks.  "  Ralph  didn't  send  them. 
It  —  it  was  Derry  Drake." 

"  Drake?    How  did  that  happen?  " 

"  He  was  here  this  afternoon  for  tea,  and  Kalph, 
and  Emily  — -  only  Emily  was  late,  and  the  tea  was 
cold—" 

"  So  you've  made  up?  "  .  : 

"  We  didn't  have  to  make  up  much,  Daddy,  did 
we?"  mendaciously. 

Miss  Emily  came  to  the  rescue.  "  He  seems  very 
nice." 

"  Splendid  fellow.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
want  him  sending  flowers  to  my  daughter.  I  don't 
want  anyone  sending  flowers  to  her." 

Miss  Emily  took  him  up  sharply.  "  That's  your 
selfishness.  Life  has  always  been  a  garden  where 
you  have  wandered  at  will.  And  now  you  want  to 
shut  the  gate  of  that  garden  against  your  daugh- 
ter." 

"  Well,  there  are  flowers  that  I  shouldn't  care  to 
have  her  pluck." 

"  Don't  you  know  her  well  enough  to  understand 
that  she'll  pluck  only  the  little  lovely  blooms?  " 

His  eyes  rested  on  Jean's  absorbed  face.  "  Yes, 
thank  God.  And  thank  you,  too,  for  saying  it, 
Emily." 

After  "dinner  they  sat  in  the  library.  Doctor 
McKenzie  on  one  side  of  the  fire  with  his  cigar, 
126 


ROSE-COLOR! 

Emily  on  the  other  side  with  her  knitting.  Jean 
between  them  in  a  low  chair,  a  knot  of  Berry's  vio- 
lets fragrant  against  the  gray  of  her  gown,  her 
fingers  idle. 

"  Why  aren't  you  knitting?  "  the  Doctor  asked. 

"  I  don't  have  to  set  a  good  example  to  Emily." 

"And  you  do  to  Hilda?"  He  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed. 

"  You  needn't  laugh.  Isn't  it  comfy  with 
Emily?  " 

"  It  is."  He  glanced  at  the  slender  black  figure. 
He  was  still  feeling  the  fineness  of  the  thing  she 
had  said  about  Jean.  "  But  when  she  is  here  I  am 
jealous." 

"  Oh,  Daddy." 

"  And  I  am  never  jealous  of  Hilda.  If  you  had 
Emily  all  the  time  you'd  love  her  better  than  you  do 
me." 

He  chuckled  at  their  hot  eyes.  "  If  you  are  teas- 
ing," Jean  told  him,  "  I'll  forgive  you.  But  Emily 
won't,  will  you,  Emily?  " 

"  No."  Emily's  voice  was  gay,  and  he  liked  the 
color  in  her  cheeks.  "  He  doesn't  deserve  to  be 
forgiven.  Some  day  he  is  going  to  be  devoured  by 
a  green-eyed  monster,  like  a  bad  little  boy  in  a 
Sunday  School  story." 

Her   needles   clicked,    and   her   eyes   sparkled. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  sprightliness 
about  Emily  that  was  stimulating. 
127 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  But  one's  only  daughter,  Emily.  Isn't  jealousy 
pardonable?  " 

"  Not  in  you." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Well,"  with  obvious  reluctance,  "  you're  too  big 
for  it." 

"  Oh,"  he  was  more  pleased  than  he  was  willing 
to  admit,  "  did  you  hear  that,  Jean?  " 

But  Jean,  having  drifted  away  from  them,  came 
back  with,  "  I  am  going  to  church  with  him  tomor- 
row." 

"Him?    Whom?" 

"  Derry  Drake,  Daddy,  and  may  I  bring  him  home 
to  dinner?  " 

"  Do  you  think  a  man  like  that  goes  begging  for 
invitations?  He  has  probably  been  asked  to  a 
dozen  places  to  eat  his  turkey." 

"  He  can't  eat  it  at  a  dozen  places,  Daddy.  And 
anyhow  I  should  like  to  ask  him.  I  —  I  think  he  is 
lonely  — " 

"  A  man  with  millions  is  never  lonely." 

She  did  not  attempt  to  argue.  She  felt  that  her 
father  could  not  possibly  grasp  the  truth  about 
Derry  Drake.  Her  own  understanding  of  his  need 
had  been  a  blinding,  whirling  revelation.  He  had 
said,  "  I  wanted  some  one  —  who  cared  — ."  Not 
for  a  moment  since  then  had  the  world  been  real  to 
her.  She  had  seemed  in  the  center  of  a  golden- 
lighted  sphere,  where  Derry's  voice  spoke  to  her, 
128 


ROSE-COLOR! 

where  Berry's  smile  warmed  her,  where  Berry,  a 
silver-crested  knight,  knelt  at  her  feet. 

Julia  came  in  to  say  that  Miss  Jean  was  wanted 
at  the  telephone. 

Miraculously  Berry's  voice  came  over  the  wire. 
Was  she  going  to  the  dance  at  the  Willard?  The 
one  for  the  benefit  of  the  Eye  and  Ear  Hospital? 
The  President  and  his  wife  would  be  there  —  the 
only  ball  they  had  attended  this  season  —  every- 
body would  be  there.  Could  he  come  for  Jean  and 
her  father?  And  he'd  bring  Brasilia  and  Marion 
Gray.  She  knew  Brasilia? 

Jean  on  tiptoe.  Oh,  yes.  But  she  was  not  sure 
about  her  father. 

"  But  you  —  you  —  ?  " 

« I'll  ask." 

She  flew  on  winged  feet  and  explained  excitedly. 

"  Tonight?     Tonight,  Jean?  " 

"  Yes,  Baddy." 

"  But  what  time  is  it?  " 

"  Only  ten.     He'll  come  at  eleven  — " 

"  But  you  can't  leave  Emily  alone,  dear." 

"  Emily  won't  mind  —  darling  —  will  you. 
Emily?" 

"  Of  course  not.     I  am  often  alone." 

It  was  said  quietly,  without  bitterness,  but  Br. 

McKenzie  was  quite  suddenly  and  unreasonably 

moved  by  the  thought  of  all  that  Emily  had  missed. 

He  felt  it  utterly  unfair  that  she  should  sit  alone 

129 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

by  an  empty  hearth  while  he  and  Jean  frivolled. 
He  had  never  thought  of  Hilda  by  an  empty  hearth 
—  and  she  had  been  often  alone  —  but  there  was 
this  which  made  the  difference,  he  would  not  have 
asked  Hilda  to  meet  his  daughter's  friends.  She 
had  her  place  in  his  household,  but  it  was  not  the 
place  which  Emily  filled. 

Yet  he  missed  her.  He  missed  her  blond  pic- 
turesqueness  at  the  dinner  table,  her  trim  whiteness 
as  she  served  him  in  his  office. 

He  came  back  to  the  question  of  Emily.  "  You 
can  tell  Drake  we  will  go,  if  Emily  can  accompany 
us." 

"  But,  Doctor,  I'd  rather  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I'm  not  included  in  the  invitation." 

"  Don't  be  self-conscious." 

"  And  I  haven't  anything  to  wear." 

"  You  never  looked  better  than  you  do  at  this 
moment.  And  Jean  can  get  you  that  scarf  of  her 
mother's  with  the  jet  and  spangles." 

"The  peacocky  one  —  oh,  yes,  Daddy."  Jean 
danced  back  to  the  telephone. 

Derry  was  delighted  to  include  Miss  Bridges. 
"  Bring  a  dozen  if  you  wish." 

"  I  don't  want  a  dozen.  I  want  just  Daddy  and 
Emily." 

"And  me?" 

"  Of  course  —  silly  — " 
130 


ROSE-COLOR! 

Laughter  singing  along  the  wire.  "  May  I  come 
now?" 

"  I  have  to  change  my  dress." 

"  In  an  hour,  then?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  can't  really  believe  that  we  are  going  —  to- 
gether!" 

"Together—" 


131 


CHAPTER  X 

A   MAN   WITH    MONEY 

WHITE  and  silver  for  Jean,  the  peacocky  scarf 
making  Emily  shine  with  the  best  of  them,  Dr.  Mc- 
Kenzie  called  away  at  the  last  moment,  and  prom- 
ising to  join  them  later;  Derry  catching  his  breath 
when  he  saw  his  violets  among  Jean's  laces;  Dru- 
silla  wondering  a  little  at  this  transfigured  Derry ; 
Marion  Gray  settling  down  to  the  comfort  of  a 
chat  with  Emily  —  what  had  these  to  do  with  a  Tin 
Soldier  on  a  shelf? 

"  How  is  your  father,  Derry?  " 

"  Better,  Drusilla.  He  has  a  fine  nurse.  Dr. 
McKenzie  sent  her." 

"  And  I  have  Emily,"  Jean  sang  from  the  corner 
of  the  big  car  where  Derry  had  her  penned  in,  with 
the  fragrance  of  her  violets  sweeping  over  him  as 
he  sat  next  to  her.  "  I  want  Emily  always,  but 
Daddy  has  to  have  a  nurse  in  the  office,  and  Emily 
won't  give  up  her  toys.  And  in  the  meantime 
Hilda  and  I  are  ready  to  scratch  each  other's  eyes 
out.  Please  keep  her  as  long  as  you  can  on  your 
father's  case,  Mr.  Drake." 

"Say  ' Derry/"  he  commanded  under  cover  of 
the  light  laughter  of  the  women. 

"  Not  before  —  everybody  — " 
132 


A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 

"  Whisper  it,  then." 

"  Derry,  Deny." 

His  pulses  pounded.  During  the  rest  of  the 
drive,  he  spoke  to  his  other  guests  and  seemed  to 
listen,  but  he  heard  nothing  —  nothing  but  the 
whisper  of  that  beloved  voice. 

As  Derry  had  said,  all  the  world  of  Washington 
was  at  the  ball.  The  President  and  his  wife  in  a 
flag-draped  box,  she  in  black  with  a  turquoise  fan, 
he  towering  a  little  above  her,  more  than  President 
in  these  autocratic  days  of  war.  They  looked  down 
on  men  in  the  uniforms  of  the  battling  world  — 
Scot  and  Briton  and  Gaul  —  in  plaid  and  khaki  and 
horizon  blue — . 

They  looked  down  on  women  knitting. 

Mrs.  Witherspoon  and  a  party  of  young  people 
sat  in  a  box  adjoining  Derry's.  Ralph  was  there 
and  Alma  Drew,  and  Alma  was  more  than  ever 
lovely  in  gold-embroidered  tulle. 

Ralph  knew  what  had  happened  when  he  saw 
Jean  dancing  with  Derry.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  soft  raptures  of  the  youthful  pair.  In  the 
days  to  come  Ralph  was  to  suffer  wounds,  but  none 
to  tear  his  heart  like  this.  And  so  when  he  danced 
with  Jean  a  little  later  he  did  not  spare  her. 

"  A  man  with  money  always  gets  what  he  wants." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  I  think  you  do.  You  are  going  to  marry  Derry 
Drake." 

133 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  shrank  at  this.  She  had  iu  her  meetings 
with  Derry  never  looked  beyond  the  bliss  of  the 
moment.  To  have  Ralph's  rough  fingers  tearing  at 
the  veil  of  her  future  was  revolting. 

She  breathed  quickly.  "  I  shan't  dance  with  you, 
if  you  speak  of  it  again." 

"You  shall  dance  with  me,"  grimly,  "this  mo- 
ment is  my  own  — " 

She  was  like  wax  in  his  strong  arms.  "  Oh, 
how  dare  you."  She  was  cold  with  anger.  "  I 
want  to  stop." 

"  And  I  could  dance  forever.  That's  the  irony  of 
it  —  that  I  cannot  make  you.  But  if  I  had  Drake's 
money,  I'd  make  you." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  his  money?  " 

"  Perhaps  not.     But  the  world  will  think  it." 

"  If  —  if  he  wanted  me,  I'd  marry  him  if  he  were 
a  beggar  in  the  streets." 

"  Has  it  gone  as  far  as  that?  But  you  wouldn't 
marry  a  beggar.  A  troubadour  beneath  your  bal- 
cony, yes.  But  not  a  beggar.  You'd  want  him 
silken  and  blond  and  singing,  and  staying  at  home 
while  other  men  fought  — " 

She  stopped  at  once.  "  If  you  knew  what  you 
were  talking  about,  I'd  never  speak  to  you  again. 
But  because  I  was  fool  enough  once  to  believe  that 
Derry  Drake  was  a  coward,  I  am  going  to  forgive 
you.  But  I  shall  not  dance  with  you  again, 
ever  — " 

134 


A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 

Making  her  way  back  alone  to  the  box,  she  saw 
with  a  throb  of  relief  that  her  father  had  joined 
Emily  and  Marion  Gray. 

He  uttered  a  quick  exclamation  as  she  came  up. 
"  What's  the  matter,  daughter?  " 

Her  throat  was  dry.  "  I  can't  tell  you  now  — 
there  are  too  many  people.  It  was  Ralph.  I  hate 
him,  Daddy." 

"My  dear— » 

"  I  do." 

"But  why?" 

"Please,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it  —  wait 
until  we  get  home." 

Looking  out  over  the  heads  of  the  swaying  crowd, 
she  saw  that  Derry  was  dancing  with  Alma  Drew. 
And  it  was  Alma  who  had  said  at  the  Witherspoon 
dinner,  "  Everybody  will  forgive  a  man  with 
money." 

And  that  was  what  Ralph  had  thought  of  her, 
that  she  was  like  Alma  —  that  money  could  buy 
her  —  that  she  would  sell  the  honor  of  her  country 
for  gold  — . 

But  worse  than  any  hurt  of  her  own  was  the  hurt 
of  the  thing  for  Derry.  Ralph  Witherspoon  had 
dared  to  point  a  finger  of  scorn  at  him  —  other 
people  had  dared  — 

She  suffered  intensely,  not  as  a  child,  but  as  a 
woman. 

Alma,  out  on  the  floor,  was  saying  to  Derry,  "  I 
135 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

saw  you  dancing  with  Jean  McKenzie.  She's  a 
quaint  little  duck." 

"  Not  a  duck,  Alma,"  he  was  smiling,  "  a  white 
dove  —  or  a  silver  swan."  The  look  that  he  sent 
across  the  room  to  Jean  was  a  revelation. 

Like  Ralph,  she  grew  hateful.  "  So  that's  it? 
"  Well,  a  man  with  money  can  get  anything." 

He  had  no  anger  for  her.  Jean  might  blaze  in 
his  defense,  but  his  own  fires  were  not  to  be  fanned 
by  any  words  of  Alma  Drew.  If  he  lost  his  for- 
tune, Jean  would  still  care  for  him.  It  was  fore- 
ordained, as  fixed  as  the  stars. 

So  he  went  back  to  her,  and  when  she  saw  him 
coming,  the  burden  of  her  distress  fell  from  her. 
The  world  became  once  more  hers  and  Berry's,  with 
everybody  else  shut  out.  When  they  had  supper 
with  the  Witherspoon  party  joining  them,  and 
Ralph  palely  repentant  beside  her,  she  even,  to  the 
utter  bewilderment  of  her  father,  smiled  at  him, 
and  talked  as  if  their  quarrel  had  never  been. 

Brasilia  watched  her  with  more  than  a  tinge  of 
envy.  She  was  aware  that  her  own  vivid  charm 
was  shadowed  and  eclipsed  by  the  white  flame  of 
Jean's  youth  and  innocence.  "  And  he  loves  her," 
she  thought  with  a  tug  of  her  heartstrings;  "he 
loves  her,  and  there'll  never  be  anything  like  it  for 
him  again." 

She  sat  rather  silently  between  Captain  Hewes 
and  Br.  McKenzie.  Br.  McKenzie  had  always  ad- 
136 


A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 

mired  Drusilla,  but  tonight  his  attention  was  rather 
more  than  usual  fixed  upon  her  by  a  remark  which 
Captain  Hewes  had  made  when  the  two  men  had 
stood  alone  together  watching  the  dancers.  "  I 
have  seen  very  little  of  American  women  —  but  to 
me  Drusilla  Gray  seems  the  supreme  type." 

"  She  is  very  attractive." 

"  She  is  more  than  that.  She  is  inspiring,  the 
embodiment  of  your  best  ideals.  When  she  sings 
one  wonders  that  all  men  have  not  fought  for  democ- 
racy." 

That  was  something  to  say  of  a  woman.  Doctor 
McKenzie  wondered  if  it  could  be  said  of  his  own 
daughter.  Set  side  by  side  with  Drusilla,  Jean 
seemed  a  childish  creature,  unstable,  swayed  by 
the  emotion  of  the  moment.  Yet  her  fire  matched 
Drusilla's,  her  dreams  outran  Drusilla's  dreams. 

Two  officers  passed  the  table. 

"  How  any  man  can  keep  out  of  it,"  Drusilla 
said.  "Some  day  I  shall  put  on  a  uniform  and 
pass  for  a  boy  — " 

"  Why  not  go  over  as  you  are?  " 

"  They  won't  let  me  now.  But  some  day  they 
will.  I  can  drive  a  car  —  there  ought  to  be  a  place 
for  me." 

"  There  is  one  for  me,"  he  said,  "  and  my  decision 
must  be  made  tonight.     They  are  asking  me  to  head 
a  hospital  staff  in  France.    A  letter  came  this 
morning,  and  I've  got  to  answer  it." 
137 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Her  eyes  went  to  the  flame-white  maiden  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table.  "  What  does  Jean  say?  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  her.  She  wouldn't  keep  me 
back.  But  I  am  all  she  has,  and  it  would  hurt." 

"  It  would  hurt.  But  you  are  not  all  that  she 
has  —  you  might  as  well  try  to  sweep  back  the  sea 
as  to  stop  what  is  going  on  over  there.  I  have  been 
sitting  here  green  with  envy.  Oh,  if  love  might 
only  come  to  me  like  that." 

"Like  what?" 

"  Heaven-sent  —  never  a  doubt,  never  a  specula- 
tion; just  knowing  and  believing  —  souls  stripped 
bare  of  all  pretence." 

How  splendid  she  was  —  how  beautiful!  He 
bent  down  to  her.  "Why  shouldn't  it  come  to 
you?" 

"  Men  don't  love  me  that  way.  They  admire  and 
respect  and  then  love.  But  Jean?  She's  a  moon 
maiden,  luring  them  to  —  madness."  She  smiled 
up  at  him. 

"  Captain  Hewes  says  you  are  the  supreme  type 
—  the  perfect  American." 

"  Yes,  but  he  thinks  of  me  as  a  type.  Some  day 
perhaps  he  will  think  of  me  as  a  woman." 

She  brought  the  conversation  back  to  Jean. 
"You  need  not  let  the  thought  of  her  loneliness 
trouble  you." 

"  You  think  then  that  I  am  going  to  lose  her?  " 

"  You  have  lost  her  already." 
138 


A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 

Sparks  burned  in  the  Doctor's  eyes.  "I  don't 
believe  it.  She  has  known  him  a  few  days  —  and 
I've  given  her  my  whole  life." 

"  '  Forsaking  all  others,'  "  murmured  Drusilla. 

"  Yet  she  loves  me." 

"  It  isn't  that  she  loves  you  less  —  she  loves  him 
more." 

"Don't,"  he  lifted  his  hand.  "I  am  not  sure 
that  I  can  stand  it." 

"  It  makes  your  way  clear.  That's  why  I  have 
said  it.  There  will  be  nothing  now  to  keep  you 
back  from  France." 

Once  upon  a  time  she  had  said  to  Derry,  "  I  can 
feel  things,  and  I  can  make  others  feel."  She  had, 
perhaps,  tonight,  been  a  little  cruel,  but  she  had 
been  cruel  with  a  purpose. 

All  the  way  home  Doctor  McKenzie  was  very 
silent.  When  he  kissed  his  daughter  before  she 
went  upstairs,  he  held  her  close  and  smoothed  her 
hair,  but  not  a  word  did  he  say  of  the  thing  which 
had  come  to  him. 

He  asked  Emily,  however,  to  wait  a  moment.  "  I 
have  a  letter  to  answer.  I  should  like  your  ad- 
vice." 

Wondering  a  little,  she  sat  down  by  the  fire.  The 
peacocky  scarf  gave  out  glittering  lights  of  blue  and 
green.  She  was  tired  and  there  were  shadows  un- 
der her  eyes. 

He  came  at  once  to  his  proposition.  "  I  am 
1S9 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

thinking  of  going  to  France,  Emily.  If  I  do,  can 
you  stay  with  Jean?  " 

She  turned  her  startled  gaze  upon  him.  "  To 
France?  Why?" 

He  told  her.  "  They  have  been  writing  to  me  for 
weeks,  and  now  the  moment  for  my  decision  has 
come.  I  haven't  said  anything  to  Jean.  But  she 
won't  keep  me  back.  You  know  how  she  feels. 
But  unless  you  can  come,  I  can't  leave  her." 

"  I  should  have  to  be  all  day  in  my  shop." 

"  I  know,  but  you  could  be  here  in  the  evening 
and  at  night,  and  she  could,  of  course,  be  with  you 
in  the  shop,  she  likes  that  —  and  it  would  keep  her 
from  brooding.  Or,  if  you  will  give  up  the  shop,  I 
should  like  to  make  it  financially  possible  for  you, 
Emily." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No.  You  will  be  coming 
back,  and  then  my  occupation  would  be  gone." 
She  hesitated.  "  But  if  I  come  —  what  of  Hilda?  " 

"  She  may  decide  to  go  over,  too,  as  a  nurse. 
We  work  well  together." 

She  was  silent,  searching  for  the  words  which 
she  felt  that  she  ought  to  say.  So  that  was  it? 
They  would  go  together,  and  the  tongues  of  the 
world  would  wag.  And  Hilda  would  know  that 
they  were  wagging,  and  would  not  care.  But  he, 
with  his  mind  on  bigger  things,  would  never  know, 
and  would  blunder  unseeing  into  the  net  which 
was  set  for  him.  She  felt  that  she  ought  to  wrarn 
140 


A  MAN  WITH  MONEY 

him,  that  the  good  friendship  which  existed  be- 
tween them  demanded  it.  Yet  it  was  a  hard  thing 
to  say,  and  she  hated  it.  So  the  moment  passed. 

It  was  he  who  spoke  first  —  of  Jean  and  Derry. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Emily?  » 

"  He  is  very  much  in  love  with  her." 

"And  Jean?" 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  know.     You  saw  her  tonight." 

He  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  age  and  loneliness. 
"  She  won't  miss  me,  then?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  anyone  could  make  up  to 
your  little  Jean  for  the  loss  of  her  father?  " 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hand.  "You  are 
feeling  it  like  that?  "  she  asked,  gently. 

"  Yes.  She  is  all  I  have,  Emily.  And  I  am  jeal- 
ous —  desperately  —  desperately." 

She  searched  for  words  to  comfort  him,  and  at 
last  they  came.  "  She  will  be  very  proud  of  her 
Daddy  in  France." 

"Do  you  think  she  will?" 

"  I  know  it." 

"  And  yet  —  I  am  not  really  worthy  of  all  that 
she  gives  — " 

She  leaned  forward,  her  white  hands  in  her  lap. 
Jean's  comment  echoed  once  more  in  his  ears.  "  I 
like  Emily's  hands  much  better  than  Hilda's." 
They  seemed,  indeed,  to  represent  all  that  was  lovely 
in  Emily,  her  refinement,  her  firmness,  her  gentle 
spirit. 

141 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Bruce,"  she  said  —  she  rarely  called  him  that 
— "  your  dear  wife  would  never  have  loved  you  if 
you  hadn't  been  worthy  of  love." 

"  I  need  her  —  to  hold  me  to  my  best." 

"  Hold  yourself  to  it,  Bruce  — "  She  stood  up. 
"I  must  go  to  bed,  and  so  must  you.  We  have 
busy  days  before  us." 

He  spoke  impulsively.  "  You  are  a  good  woman, 
Emily  —  there's  no  one  in  the  world  that  I  would 
trust  to  stay  with  Jean  but  you." 

She  smiled  a  little  wistfully  as  she  went  upstairs. 
She  had  perhaps  comforted  him,  but  she  had  left 
unsaid  the  wrords  she  should  have  spoken.  "  You 
must  not  take  Hilda  with  you.  If  you  take  her 
with  you,  will  your  Jean  be  proud  of  her  Daddy  in 
France? " 


142 


CHAPTER  XI 

HILDA   WEABS  A  CROWN 

AT  two  o'clock  on  Thanksgiving  morning  the 
light  burned  low  in  the  General's  room.  Hilda, 
wide  awake,  was  reading.  Derry  stopped  at  the 
door. 

She  rose  at  once  and  went  to  him. 

"  Is  he  all  right,  Miss  Merritt?  " 

"  Yes.     He's  sound  asleep." 

"  Then  you  think  he's  better?  " 

"  Much  better." 

"  Good.  I  hope  you  can  stay  on  the  case.  Dr. 
McKenzie  says  it  is  all  because  of  your  splendid 
care  of  him.  I  just  left  McKenzie,  by  the  way.  I 
took  him  and  his  daughter  to  the  ball  at  the  Wil- 
lard.  We  had  a  corking  time." 

Her  eyes  saw  a  change  in  him.  This  was  not  the 
listless  Derry  with  whom  she  had  talked  the  day 
before  —  here  were  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes 
—  gay  youth  and  gladness  — . 

"  A  corking  time,"  Derry  reiterated.  "  The  Pres- 
ident was  there,  and  his  wife  —  and  we  danced  a 
lot  —  and  — "  he  caught  himself  up.  "  Well,  good- 
night, Miss  Merritt." 

143 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Good-night."  She  went  back  to  the  shadowed 
room. 

Bronson,  following  Derry,  came  back  in  a  half 
hour  with  a  dry,  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you,  Miss  Merritt?  "  and  then  the  house  was  still. 

And  now  Hilda  was  alone  with  the  old  man  in 
the  lacquered  bed.  There  would  be  no  interrup- 
tions until  morning.  It  was  the  moment  for  which 
she  had  waited  ever  since  the  hour  when  the  Gen- 
eral had  sent  her  into  his  wife's  room  for  a  minia- 
ture of  Derry,  which  wras  locked  in  the  safe. 

The  suite  which  had  belonged  to  Mrs.  Drake  con- 
sisted of  three  rooms  —  a  sitting  room,  a  bedroom 
and  a  sun-parlor  which  had  been  Derry's  nursery. 
Nothing  had  been  changed  since  her  death.  Every 
day  a  maid  cleaned  and  dusted,  and  at  certain  sea- 
sons the  clothes  in  the  presses  were  brushed  and 
aired  and  put  back  again.  In  a  little  safe  in  the 
wall  were  jewels,  and  the  key  was  on  the  General's 
ring.  He  had  given  the  key  to  Hilda  when  he  had 
sent  her  for  the  miniature.  His  fever  had  been 
high,  and  he  had  not  been  quite  himself.  Even  a 
nurse  with  a  finer  sense  of  honor  might  have  argued, 
however,  that  her  patient  must  be  obeyed.  So  she 
knew  now  where  his  treasure  was  kept  —  behind  a 
Chinese  scroll,  which  when  rolled  uo  revealed  the 
panel  which  hid  the  safe. 

Hilda  had  never  worn  a  jewel  of  value  in  her 
life.  She  possessed,  it  is  true,  a  few  trinkets,  a 
144 


HILDA   WEARS  A  CROWN 

gold  ring  with  her  monogram  engraved  in  it,  a 
string  of  Roman  pearls,  and  a  plain  wrist  watch. 
But  such  brilliance  as  that  which  met  her  startled 
eyes  when  she  had  first  looked  into  the  safe  was 
beyond  anything  conceived  by  her  rather  limited 
imagination. 

She  opened  the  door  between  the  rooms  quietly, 
and  went  in,  leaving  a  crack  that  she  might  hear 
any  movement  on  the  part  of  her  patient.  She 
crossed  the  sitting  room  in  the  dark.  Beaching  the 
bedroom  she  pulled  the  chain  of  the  lamp,  then  set 
a  screen  to  hide  any  ray  of  light  which  might 
escape. 

The  room  was  furnished  with  a  feeling  for  deli- 
cate color  —  gold  and  ivory  —  Japanese  prints  — 
pale  silks  and  crepes  —  a  bit  of  jade  —  a  cabinet 
inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl.  But  Hilda's  eyes  were 
not  for  these.  Indeed,  she  knew  nothing  of  their 
value,  nothing,  indeed,  of  the  value  of  the  Chinese 
scroll  which  so  effectually  hid  the  panel  in  the  wall. 

Within  the  safe  was  a  large' velvet  box,  and  sev- 
eral smaller  ones.  It  was  from  the  big  box  that 
Hilda  had  taken  the  miniature,  and  it  contained 
also  the  crown  which  she  yearned  to  wear. 

She  called  it  a  crown!  It  Was  a  tiara  of  dia- 
monds, peaked  up  to  a  point  in  front.  There  was, 
also,  the  wide  collar  of  pearls  with  the  diamond 
slides  which  had  been  worn  by  the  painted  lady  on 
the  stairs.  In  the  smaller  boxes  were  more  pearls, 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

long  strings  of  them ;  sapphires  like  a  midnight  sky, 
opals,  fire  in  a  mist;  rubies,  emeralds — .  They 
should  have  been  locked  in  a  vault  at  the  General's 
bank,  but  he  had  wanted  nothing  taken  away,  noth- 
ing disturbed.  Yet  with  that  touch  of  fever  upon 
him  he  had  given  the  key  to  Hilda. 

She  took  off  her  cap  and  turned  in  the  neck  of 
her  white  linen  gown.  The  pearl  collar  was  a  bit 
small  for  her,  but  she  managed  to  snap  the  three 
slides.  She  set  the  sparkling  circlet  on  her  head. 

Then  she  stood  back  and  surveyed  herself  in  the 
oval  mirror ! 

Gone  was  the  Hilda  Merritt  whom  she  had 
known,  and  in  her  place  was  a  queen  with  a  crown ! 
She  smiled  at  her  reflection  and  nodded.  For  once 
she  was  swayed  from  her  stillness  and  stolidity. 
She  loaded  her  long  hands  with  rings,  and  held 
them  to  her  cheeks ;  then,  struck  by  the  contrast  of 
her  white  linen  sleeve,  she  rummaged  in  one  of  the 
big  closets,  and  threw  on  the  bed  a  drift  of  exqui- 
site apparel. 

The  gowns  were  all  too  small  for  her,  but  there 
was  a  cloak  of  velvet  and  ermine.  The  General's 
wife  had  worn  it  to  the  White  House  dinner  over 
the  gown  in  which  she  had  been  painted.  Hilda 
drew  the  cloak  about  her  shoulders,  and  laughed 
noiselessly.  She  could  look  like  this,  and  she  had 
never  known  it !  But  now  that  she  knew  — ! 

There  was  the  soft  click  of  the  telephone  in  the 
146 


HILDA  WEARS  A  CROWN 

General's  room.  Fearful  lest  the  sound  should 
waken  her  patient,  she  tore  off  the  tiara,  turned  up 
the  neck  of  her  dress  to  hide  the  shining  collar, 
dropped  the  cloak,  pulled  the  chain  of  the  lamp, 
then  sped  breathless  to  the  shadowed  room. 

Dr.  McKenzie  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

"  I  am  coming  over,  Hilda." 

"  You  need  not," —  her  voice  was  a  whisper  — 
"  he  is  sound  asleep." 

"  I  want  to  see  you  for  a  moment.     It  is  very  im- 
portant." 

She  hesitated.     "  It  is  very  late." 

"  Has  young  Drake  arrived  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  has  gone  to  bed." 

"  I'll  be  there  in  ten  minutes.     You  can  meet  me 
downstairs." 

The  General  stirred.    "  Miss  Merritt." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  to  him  at  once. 

"  Has  the  Doctor  come?  " 

"  No.    But  he  has  just  telephoned.     He  will  be 
here  shortly." 

His  sick  old  eyes  surveyed  her.     "  I  never  saw 
you  before  without  your  cap — " 

"No." 

"  You  are  very  pretty." 

She  smiled  down  at  him.     "  It  is  nice  of  you  to 
say  it." 

"Don't  wear  your  cap  again.     I  don't  like  uni- 
forms for  women." 

147 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  But  when  I  am  on  duty  I  must  wear  it.  You 
know  enough  of  discipline  to  understand  that  I 
must." 

"Yes.  But  women  don't  need  discipline,  God 
bless  'em."  His  old  eyes  twinkled.  "  Has  Derry 
come  in?" 

"  Yes,  and  gone  to  bed.     He  asked  after  you." 

"  And  it's  Thanksgiving  morning?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  no  turkey  for  me.  But  you'll  get  me  a 
glass  of  wine?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure.    I'll  ask  the  Doctor." 

She  sat  beside  him  until  he  again  dozed.  Then 
made  her  way  once  more  to  the  room  where  the 
lovely  gowns  were  piled  high  on  the  bed,  and  the 
jewels  sparkled  on  the  dressing-table.  Quickly  and 
noiselessly  she  put  them  in  place.  Then  she  tried 
to  take  off  the  collar,  but  the  snaps  held.  She 
tugged  and  pressed,  but  with  no  result.  She  was 
afraid  to  pull  too  hard  lest  she  break  the  snaps. 

At  last  she  was  forced  to  button  the  collar  of  her 
linen  gown  above  it.  She  smoothed  her  hair  and 
put  on  her  cap.  The  room  as  she  surveyed  it 
showed  no  sign  of  her  occupation.  She  put  out  the 
light  and  returned  to  her  patient. 

She  was  at  the  front  door  to  let  the  Doctor  in 
when  he  arrived. 

"The  General  is  awake,  and  wants  to  see  you. 
I'll  come  down  when  you  go,  and  we  can  talk." 
148 


HILDA  WEARS  A  CROWN 

As  they  entered  the  shadowed  room  together,  the 
old  man  opened  his  eyes.  "  Hello,  McKenzie. 
Nurse,  what  made  you  put  on  your  cap?  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  dare  leave  it  off  when  the  Doctor's 
here." 

"  Does  she  have  to  take  your  orders  or  mine,  Mc- 
Kenzie?" 

"Mine,"  smiling;  "that's  one  of  the  perquisites 
of  my  profession,  to  have  all  the  nurses  under  my 
thumb." 

"  Don't  you  try  to  please  your  patients?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  tell  her  to  leave  off  her  cap." 

He  began  to  cough.  The  Doctor  bent  over  him. 
Hilda  helped  to  make  the  old  man  comfortable. 

When  at  last  the  General  drifted  into  slumber, 
the  two  went  down  together.  The  hall  clock 
pointed  to  four. 

They  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  great  stairway. 
From  the  landing  the  painted  lady  smiled  at  them. 

"  Hilda,  I  am  going  to  France." 

She  expressed  no  surprise.  "  When  did  you 
make  up  your  mind?  " 

"  In  a  sense  it  is  not  made  up.  I  think  I  am 
waiting  for  you  to  confirm  my  decision.  They 
want  me  at  the  head  of  a  hospital  staff,  to  deal  with 
cases  of  shock.  I  should  like  to  have  you  in  charge 
of  my  nurses." 

149 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  meditated.  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I  care  to  go." 

He  showed  his  surprise.  "  I  understood  that  if 
I  went,  you  would  go  — " 

"  I  don't  think  I  said  that." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  it  didn't  occur  to  me  that 
you  would  back  out."  His  voice  showed  the  irrita- 
tion of  a  man  balked  in  the  thing  he  wants. 

"  I  haven't  backed  out.  I  don't  know  what  I 
want  to  do.  I  have  to  think  it  over." 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair.  "  What 
made  you  change  your  mind?  " 

"  I  like  to  be  comfortable.  And  it  isn't  comfort- 
able over  there." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Hilda  —  don't  make  your- 
self out  as  selfish  as  that." 

"I  am  not  any  more  selfish  than  other  people, 
but  I  am  honest.  I  don't  go  around  deceiving  my- 
self with  the  idea  that  if  I  go  I  shall  be  doing 
something  wonderful.  But  you  —  that's  why  you 
are  going  —  to  be  wonderful  in  your  own  eyes,  and 
Jean's  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

« I  don't  think  it  is  that,"  he  said  soberly.  "  I 
hope  not.  I  have  tried  to  see  straight.  I  some- 
times think  it  is  you  who  are  seeing  crooked,  Hilda." 

They  faced  each  other  squarely.  Her  chin  was 
slightly  lifted.  He  caught  the  gleam  of  jewels  at 
her  throat. 

"Hilda,"  he  said  sharply,  "where  did  you  get 
those  diamonds?  " 

150 


HILDA  WEARS  A  CROWN 

Her  hand  flew  up  to  them.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  disconcerted.  "  I  might  as  well  tell  you. 
They  belonged  to  the  General's  wife.  I  didn't  have 
anything  to  do  tonight,  so  I've  been  trying  them 
on.  There  isn't  any  harm  in  that,  is  there?  " 

"It's  rather  dangerous,"  slowly;  "why  didn't 
you  take  the  collar  off?  " 

"  The  snap  caught  just  as  you  came,  and  I 
couldn't  unfasten  it." 

"  Did  the  General  know  that  you  tried  them  on?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     He  was  asleep." 

"  Bend  your  head  down,  and  let  me  look  at  the 
snap." 

She  leaned  towards  him,  bringing  her  neck 
against  his  hand.  The  little  curls  of  bright  hair 
sprang  up  towards  his  fingers  as  he  worked  at  the 
obstinate  catch.  But  he  did  his  work  steadily,  and 
as  she  straightened  up  again,  he  dropped  the  collar 
into  her  hand. 

"  If  you  will  take  my  advice,"  he  said,  "  you  won't 
do  a  thing  like  that  again.  People  might  not  un- 
derstand." 

"  You  mean  that  they  might  think  I  had  stolen  it? 
I  am  not  a  thief,  Doctor  — " 

"  Of  course  not.  Do  you  think  you  have  to  tell 
me  that?  And  are  we  quarrelling,  Hilda?  " 

She  swung  back  to  her  normal  calm.  "  I  am 
tired  and  cross  — " 

"  I  know  you  are  tired.  I  hope  the  day  nurse 
151 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

will  relieve  you.  I  can  get  two  nurses,  and  let  you 
off  entirely." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I'll  stay  here.  I  am  in- 
terested in  the  case.  And  I  want  to  see  it  through. 
By  the  way,  he  has  asked  again  for  wine." 

"  He  can't  have  it.  I  told  you.  You  must  say 
that  my  orders  are  strict." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  "  Then  you  won't  go  to 
France  with  me?  " 

"  Let  me  sleep  on  it," —  her  fingers  were  firm  on 
his  own  — "  and  dont  scold  me  any  more." 

"Did  I  scold?" 

«  Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry." 

She  smiled  at  him.  The  slow  smile  which  trans- 
formed her.  "  I'll  forgive  you.  Call  me  up  in  the 
morning,  please." 

She  let  him  out,  and  went  silently  up  the  stairs. 
The  General  was  again  awake.  "  I  want  to  talk," 
he  told  her;  "take  off  your  cap,  and  sit  where  I 
can  look  at  you." 

He  was  still  feverish,  still  not  quite  responsible 
for  what  he  might  say. 

She  sat  with  the  light  falling  full  upon  her. 
She  never  made  an  unnecessary  movement,  and  her 
stillness  soothed  him.  She  was  a  good  listener, 
and  he  grew  garrulous. 

At  last  he  spoke  of  his  wife.  "  Sometimes  I  think 
she  is  here  and  I  find  myself  speaking.  A  little 
152 


HILDA.  WEARS  A  CROWN 

while  ago,  I  thought  I  heard  her  moving  in  her 
room,  but  when  I  opened  my  eyes  you  were  bending 
over  me.  Sometimes  I  seem  to  hear  her  singing  — 
there  is  never  a  moment  that  I  do  not  miss  her.  If 
I  were  good  enough  I  might  hope  to  meet  her  — 
perhaps  the  Lord  will  let  the  strength  of  my  love 
compensate  for  the  weakness  of  my  will." 

So  on  and  on  in  the  broken  old  voice. 

Bronson  came  at  six,  and  Hilda  went  away  to 
have  some  sleep.  While  the  General  drowsed  she 
had  put  the  collar  safely  away  behind  the  Chinese 
scroll. 

As  she  passed  through  the  hall,  she  stopped  for 
a  moment  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The  painted 
lady  smiled  at  her,  the  painted  lady  who  was  loved 
by  the  old  man  in  the  shadowed  room. 

No,  Hilda  was  not  a  thief.  Yet  as  she  stood 
there,  in  the  cold  dawn  of  that  Thanksgiving  morn- 
ing, she  had  it  in  her  mind  to  steal  from  the  painted 
lady  things  more  precious  than  a  pearl  collar  or  an 
ermine  cloak  or  the  diamonds  in  a  crown ! 


153 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  THE   MORNING  STABS  SANG 

JEAN  was  having  her  breakfast  in  bed.  Emily 
had  slipped  downstairs  to  drink  an  early  cup  of 
coffee  with  the  Doctor  and  to  warn  him,  "  Don't  tell 
her  to-day." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  It  will  spoil  her  feast.  Derry  Drake  is  coming 
to  dinner." 

"The  robber—" 

"  Do  you  really  feel  that  way  about  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  feel." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  "  It's  a  rotten 
morning." 

"  It  is  Thanksgiving." 

"I  haven't  much  to  be  thankful  for,"  moodily. 
"  I  am,  you  tell  me,  about  to  lose  my  daughter.  I 
am,  also,  it  wrould  seem,  to  part  company  with  my 
best  nurse." 

"  Hilda?  " 

"  Yes.  I  wanted  her  to  take  charge  of  things  for 
me  in  France.  She  elects  to  stay  here." 

"But  why?" 

"  She's  a  —  woman." 

154 


WHEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG 

"  You  don't  mean  that.  And  I  must  say  that  I 
am  rather  glad  that  she  is  not  going." 

It  was  out  at  last !  She  had  a  feeling  as  if  she 
had  taken  a  cold  plunge  and  had  survived  it ! 

"  Glad?    What  do  you  mean,  Emily?  " 

"  Every  time  I  waked  in  the  night,  I  thought  of 
Jean  and  of  how  she  would  feel  if  Hilda  went  with 
you.  Do  you  realize  that  if  she  goes,  there  are 
things  that  the  world  will  say?  " 

His  face  was  stern.  "  You  are  very  brave  to  tell 
me  that,  Emily." 

"  It  had  to  be  said,  and  last  night  I  shirked  it." 

"  But  Hilda  is  a  very  good  nurse." 

"  Do  you  think  of  her  only  as  a  —  good  nurse?  " 

He  turned  that  over  in  his  mind.  "No.  In  a 
sense  she's  rather  attractive.  She  satisfies  a  cer- 
tain side  of  me  — ." 

"  The  best  side?  " 

He  avoided  an  answer  to  that.  "  When  she  is 
away  I  miss  her." 

And  now  Miss  Emily,  shaking  a  little,  but  not 
showing  it,  made  him  face  the  situation  squarely. 
"  Have  you  ever  thought  that,  missing  her,  you 
might  want  to  marry  her?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  it.     Why  not,  Emily?  " 

"Have  you  thought  that  it  would  make  her 
your  Jean's  —  mother  — ?  " 

His  startled  look  met  her  steadfast  one.  His 
mind  flew  back  to  Hilda  as  she  had  bent  down  to 
155 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

him  the  night  before,  that  he  might  unfasten  the 
necklace.  He  thought  of  the  evil  that  her  eyes  saw 
in  him,  and  in  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  thought  of 
Jean,  and  of  her  white  young  dreams. 

«  No,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself,  "  not  that  — " 
She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.     "  Go  by  yourself 

—  there's  a  big  work  over  there,  and  you  can  do  it 
best  —  alone." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  smiling  a  little,  but  smil- 
ing sadly.  "  If  Jean's  mother  had  lived  I  should 
not  have  been  such  a  weathercock.  Will  you  write 
to  me  —  promise  me  that  you  will  write." 

"  Of  course,"  cheerfully.  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  Julia 
tells  me  that  dinner  will  be  at  three,  and  that  two 
soldier  boys  are  coming.  I  rather  think  I  shall 
like  that." 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  crinkled  hair. 
"  What  a  lot  you  get  out  of  life,  Emily." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  Little  things  count  so  much  with  you.  You  are 
like  Jean.  She  is  in  seventh  Heaven  over  a  snow- 
storm —  or  a  chocolate  soda.  It's  the  youth  in  her 

—  and  it's  the  youth,  too,  in  you  — " 

She  liked  that,  and  flushed  a  little.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  because  there  have  been  so  few  big  things, 
Bruce,  that  the  little  ones  look  big." 

He  had  a  fleeting  sense  of  what  Emily  would  be 
like  with  some  big  thing  in  her  life  —  how  far 
would  it  swing  her  from  her  sedate  course? 
156 


WHEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG 

"You  have  done  me  a  lot  of  good,"  he  said 
heartily  when  she  left  him  to  go  upstairs  to  Jean. 

Jean  was  still  in  bed.  "  I  must  run  down  to  the 
shop,"  Emily  informed  her.  "  But  I'll  be  back  in 
plenty  of  time  to  dress  for  dinner." 

"  Darling  — "  Jean  reminded  her,  "  you  must  go 
to  church." 

"  Of  course.     I  shall  stop  on  my  way  down." 

"Pray  for  me,  Emily."  She  reached  out  her 
arms.  Emily  came  to  them  and  they  clung  to- 
gether. "I  am  so  happy,  darling — "  Jean  whis- 
pered, "  but  there  isn't  anything  to  tell,  not  really 
—  yet  —  Emily  — " 

When  Emily  had  gone,  Jean  got  out  her  memory 
books.  She  had  made  of  breakfast  a  slight  affair. 
How  could  one  eat  in  the  face  of  such  astounding 
events.  Already  this  morning  flowers  had  arrived 
for  her,  heather  and  American  Beauties.  And 
Derry  had  written  on  his  card,  "The  heather  be- 
cause of  you  —  the  roses  because  of  the  day  — " 

There  were  two  hours  on  her  hands  before 
church.  She  could  dress  in  one  —  the  intervening 
time  must  be  filled. 

Her  memory  books  were  great  fat  volumes  kept 
on  a  shelf  by  themselves,  and  forming  a  record  of 
everything  that  had  happened  to  her  since  her  first 
day  at  boarding  school.  They  were  in  no  sense 
diaries,  nor  could  they  be  called  scrap-books.  They 
had,  rather,  been  compiled  with  an  eye  to  certain 
157 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

red-letter  events  —  and  their  bulkiness  had  been 
enhanced  by  the  insertion  between  the  leaves  of 
various  objects  not  intended  for  such  limited  space. 
There  was  a  mask  which  she  had  worn  at  Hallow- 
e'en ;  the  tulle  which  had  tied  her  roses  at  gradua- 
tion; a  little  silver  ring  marking  a  childish  ro- 
mance; a  flattened  and  much-dried  chocolate  drop 
with  tender  associations;  dance-favors,  clippings, 
photographs,  theater  programs,  each  illumined  and 
emphasized  by  a  line  or  two  of  sentiment  or  of 
nonsense  in  Jean's  girlish  scrawl. 

Even  now,  as  she  turned  the  leaves,  she  found 
herself  laughing  over  a  rhyme  which  her  father  had 
cut  from  his  daily  paper,  and  had  sent  in  response 
to  her  wild  plea  for  a  box  of  something  good  to  eat : 

"  Mary  had  a  little  lamb, 
A  little  pork,  a  little  jam, 
A  little  egg  on  toast, 
A  little  potted  roast, 
A  little  stew  with  dumplings  white, 
A  little  shad, 
For  Mary  had, 
A  little  appetite." 

The  big  box  had  followed  —  how  dear  Daddy  had 
always  been  —  but  had  she  ever  wanted  to  eat  like 
that? 

There  were  letters  which  her  father  had  written, 

pasted  in,  envelopes  and  all,  to  be  read  in  certain 

longing  moments  when  she  had  missed  him  and  her 

mother.    There  were  love  letters  from  certain  cal- 

158 


WEEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANQ 

low  college  boys  —  love — /  She  laughed  now  as 
she  thought  of  the  pale  passion  they  had  offered 
her. 

Deny  had  had  no  word  for  her  the  night  before 
when  he  had  left  her  at  her  door.  Her  father  had 
been  with  her,  so  Derry  could  only  press  her  hand 
and  watch  her  as  she  went  in.  But  there  had  been 
no  need  for  words.  All  the  evening  what  they  had 
felt  had  flamed  between  them  — . 

So  with  the  desire  to  preserve  a  record  of  these 
marvellous  moments  which  were  crowding  into  her 
life,  she  chose  a  perfectly  new  book  to  be  devoted 
to  Derry.  And  on  the  first  page  she  pasted,  not  the 
faded  violet  from  the  basket  which  had  come  to  her 
yesterday  —  oh,  day  of  days !  —  not  the  dance  pro- 
gram on  which  Derry's  name  was  most  magic- 
ally scrawled,  nor  the  spring  of  heather,  nor  a 
handful  of  rose  leaves  from  the  offering  of  the 
morning  —  no,  the  very  first  thing  that  went  into 
Jean's  memory  book  was  a  frayed  silken  tassel  that 
had  been  cut  from  a  rose-colored  curtain!  She 
had  carried  down  her  little  scissors  the  night  be- 
fore, and  had  snipped  it,  and  here  it  was  —  an 
omen  for  her  own  rose-colored  future ! 

Starry-eyed  she  lay  back   among  her  pillows. 

"  Oh,  Polly- Ann,  Polly-Ann,"  she  said  tensely,  to 
the  small  cat  on  the  cushions,  "if  I  should  ever 
wake  up  and  find  that  it  wasn't  true  — " 

Polly- Ann  stared  at  her  with  mystical  green  orbs. 
159 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  could  offer  no  help,  but  she  served  as  a  peg 
upon  which  Jean  could  hang  her  eloquence.  She 
stretched  herself  luxuriously  and  purred. 

"  But  it  is  true,  Polly-Ann,"  Jean  said,  "  and  I 
am  going  to  church  with  him  —  wasn't  it  beautiful 
that  he  should  think  of  going  to  church  with  me  on 
Thanksgiving  morning,  Polly-Ann?  " 

She  dressed  herself  presently,  making  a  sort  of 
sacred  rite  of  it  —  because  of  Derry.  She  was  glad 
that  she  was  pretty  —  because  of  Derry.  Glad  that 
her  gray  fur  coat  was  becoming  —  glad  of  the  red 
rose  against  it. 

He  came  in  his  car,  but  they  decided  to  walk. 

"  I  always  walk  to  church,"  said  Jean. 

"  There's  sleet  falling,"  said  Derry. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Jean. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Derry. 

And  so  they  started  out  together ! 

It  was  a  dismal  day,  but  they  did  not  know  it. 
They  knelt  together  in  the  old  church.  They 
prayed  together.  And  when  at  last  the  benedic- 
tion had  been  said  and  they  stood  together  for  a 
moment  alone  in  the  pew,  Derry  looked  down  at 
her  and  said,  "Beloved,"  and  the  morning  stars 
sang —  ! 

When  they  went  out,  the  sleet  was  coming  thick 

and  fast,  and  Derry's  car  was  waiting.    And  when 

they  were  safe  inside,  he  turned  to  her  and  his  voice 

exulted,  "  I  haven't  even  told  you  that  I  love  you  — 

160 


WEEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG 

I  haven't  asked  you  to  marry  me  —  I  haven't  done 
any  of  the  conventional  things  —  it  hasn't  needed 
words,  and  that's  the  wonder  of  it." 

"Yes." 

"  But  you  knew." 

«  Yes." 

"  From  the  first?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  from  the  first  — " 

"In  the  Toy  Shop?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  you  thought  I  was  poor  —  and  I  thought 
you  were  just  the  girl  in  the  shop?  " 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

It  was  more  wonderful  than  they  knew. 

"  Do  you  know  that  my  money  has  always  been 
more  important  to  some  people  than  I  have  been? 
I  have  thought  they  cared  for  me  because  of  it." 

"  Ralph  said  last  night  that  I  cared  —  for  the 
money." 

She  would  not  tell  him  of  the  other  things  that 
Ralph  had  said.  And  even  as  she  thought  of  him, 
across  the  path  of  her  rapture  fell  the  shadow  of 
Ralph's  scorn  of  Derry. 

He  bent  down  to  her.  "  Jean,  if  I  had  been  that 
shabby  boy  that  you  first  saw  in  the  shop  would  you 
have  been  happy  with  me,  in  a  plain  little  house? 
Would  you?" 

Up  the  streets  came  the  people  from  the  churches 
—  the  crowds  of  people  who  had  thanked  the  Lord 
161 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

soberly,  feeling  meantime  a  bit  bewildered  as  to 
the  workings  of  His  Providence.  Most  of  them 
were  going  home  to  somewhat  modified  feasts. 
Many  of  them  were  having  a  soldier  or  two  to  dine 
with  them.  And  presently  these  soldiers  whom 
they  feasted  would  be  crossing  the  sea  to  that  dread 
land  of  death  and  desolation. 

Should  they  thank  the  Lord  for  that? 

Some  of  the  clergymen,  craving  light,  had  sought 
it  in  the  Old  Testament.  But  one,  more  inspired 
than  the  rest,  had  found  it  in  the  New. 

"And  there  was  war  in  Heaven;  Michael  and 
his  angels  fought  against  the  dragon;  and  the 
dragon  fought  and  his  angels.  And  prevailed  not 
—  neither  was  their  place  found  any  more  in 
Heaven." 

Those  who  came  from  that  church  spoke  of  a 
Holy  War,  and  were  thankful  that  there  were  men 
in  America  going  forth  to  fight  the  Dragon. 

The  two  soldiers  who  were  to  dine  at  Dr.  Mc- 
Kenzie's  were  plain  young  fellows  from  an  upper 
county  in  Maryland.  They  were  waiting  somewhat 
awkwardly  in  the  drawing-room  when  Jean  ar- 
rived. She  took  them  at  once  to  the  less  formal 
library,  left  Derry  with  them  and  went  upstairs  to 
dress. 

As  she  came  into  the  fresh  and  frilly  room  so 
identified  with  her  child  life  and  her  girl  life,  she 
stopped  on  the  threshold. 
162 


WHEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG 

Oh,  little  room,  little  room,  the  child  that  once 
lived  here  will  never  come  again ! 

She  knelt  beside  the  bed,  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands.  No  words  came,  but  in  her  heart  she  was 
saying,  "  My  beloved  is  mine  —  and  I  am  his  — " 

When  she  went  down,  Dr.  McKenzie  was  there, 
and  Emily,  and  the  two  young  soldiers  had  lost 
their  awkwardness.  When  they  found  out  after- 
wards that  the  young  Drake  who  talked  to  them  so 
simply  and  unaffectedly  was  DeRhymer  Drake,  the 
multi-millionaire,  they  refused  to  believe  it.  "  He 
was  a  mighty  nice  chap.  He  didn't  put  on  a  bit  of 
side,  and  the  dinner  was  some  feast." 

And  how  could  they  know  that  Derry  was  envy- 
ing them  their  cavalry  yellow  and  their  olive  drab? 

As  for  Jean,  throughout  the  afternoon  they  gazed 
upon  her  as  upon  an  enchanting  vision.  When 
they  told  her  "  Good-bye  "  it  was  the  boldest  who 
asked,  with  a  flush  on  his  hard  cheek,  if  he  might 
have  a  bit  of  the  heather  which  she  wore.  "  I  am 
Scotch  myself,  and  my  mother  was,  and  it  would 
seem  a  sort  of  mascot." 

If  she  hesitated  for  a  moment  it  was  only  Derry 
who  noticed  it.  And  he  helped  her  out.  "  It  will 
be  a  proud  day  for  the  heather." 

So  she  gave  away  a  part  of  his  gift,  and  thanked 
him  with  her  eyes. 

It  was  after  the  boys  had  gone  that  Derry  had  a 
talk  alone  with  Dr.  McKenzie. 
163 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  But  you  haven't  known  her  a  month  — " 

"  I  have  wanted  her  all  my  life." 

"  I  see  —  how  old  are  you?  " 

"  Thirty-one." 

"  You  don't  look  it." 

"  No.    And  I  don't  feel  it.    Not  to-day." 

"  And  you  think  that  she  cares?  " 

"  What  do  you  think,  sir?  " 

The  Doctor  threw  up  his  hands.  "  Oh,  lad,  lad, 
there's  all  the  wonder  of  it  in  her  eyes  when  she 
looks  at  you." 

When  Deny  went  at  last  to  find  Jean,  she  was 
not  in  the  library.  He  crossed  the  hall  to  the  little 
drawing-room.  His  love  sat  by  the  fire  alone. 

"  My  darling  — " 

Thus  she  came  to  his  arms.  But  even  then  he 
held  her  gently,  worshipping  her  innocence  and  re- 
specting it. 

The  next  morning  he  brought  her  a  ring.  It  was 
such  a  wonderful  ring  that  she  held  her  breath. 
She  sat  on  the  rose-colored  davenport  while  he  put 
it  on  her  finger. 

"  If  I  had  been  the  girl  in  the  Toy  Shop,"  she  told 
him,  "  and  you  had  been  the  shabby  boy,  you  would 
have  given  me  a  gold  band  with  three  little  stones  — 
and  I  should  have  liked  that,  too." 

"  Ton  shall  have  the  gold  ring  some  day,  and  it 
won't  have  stones  in  it  —  and  it  will  be  a  wedding 
ring." 

164 


WHEN  THE  MORNING  STARS  SANG 

«0h  —  " 

"And  when  you  wear  it  I  shall  call  you 
Friend  Wife— " 


165 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ARE  MEN   MADE  ONLY   FOR  THIS? 

IN  the  afternoon  the  lovers  made  a  triumphant 
pilgrimage  to  the  place  where  they  had  first  met. 
All  the  toys  in  the  little  shop  stared  at  them  —  the 
clowns  and  the  dancers  in  pink  and  yellow  and  the 
bisque  babies  and  the  glassy-eyed  dogs  and  cats. 

The  white  elephant  was  again  in  the  window. 
"  He  seemed  so  lonely,"  Emily  explained,  "  and 
with  Christmas  coming  I  couldn't  feel  comfortable 
to  think  of  him  away  from  it  all." 

Jean  showed  Derry  her  midnight  camels.  "  I  am 
going  to  do  peacocks  next,"  she  told  him.  "  I  am 
so  proud." 

He  bought  all  of  the  camels  and  a  lot  of  other 
things.  "  We'll  take  them  to  Margaret  Morgan's 
kiddies  tomorrow ;  I  want  you  to  meet  her." 

Miss  Emily  found  her  lavish  customer  interest- 
ing, but  demoralizing.  "Run  away  with  him, 
Jean,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  used  to  Croesuses. 
He  won't  leave  anything  to  sell,  and  then  what 
shall  I  say  to  the  people  who  want  to  buy?  " 

"  Shut  up  your  shop  and  go  to  tea  with  us  at 
Chevy  Chase,"  Derry  suggested. 
166 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

Emily  smiled  at  him.  "  It  is  good  of  you  to  ask 
me,  but  I  can't.  I  am  not  in  love,  and  I  have  my 
day's  work  to  do.  But  I  think  if  you  would  like  to 
take  Jean  — " 

"  Alone?  "  eagerly.     "  Do  you  think  I  might?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  was  almost  afraid  to  suggest  it." 

"  I  am  not  a  dragon.  And  there  will  never  be  a 
day  like  this  for  you  again." 

Jean  broke  in  at  that.  "  Oh,  Emily,  they  will 
be  wonderfuller ! " 

"  But  not  this  day  — " 

Derry  knew  what  she  meant.  "  How  sweet  you 
are." 

Miss  Emily,  flushing,  was  a  transformed  Miss 
Emily.  "  Well,  old  people  are  apt  to  forget,  and  I 
have  not  forgotten." 

"Darling,  darling,"  Jean  chanted.  "I  am  go- 
ing to  paint  dragons,  and  they  shall  all  have  lovely 
faces,  and  I  shall  call  them  the  Not-Forgetting 
Dragons." 

It  was  all  very  superlative.  Miss  Emily  tried 
to  send  them  away,  but  they  still  lingered.  Jean 
set  the  music  boxes  going  to  celebrate  the  occasion, 
then  stopped  them  because  the  only  tunes  they 
played  were  German  tunes. 

Derry  laughed  at  her,  then  came  to  silence  be- 
fore a  box  of  tin  soldiers.     They  were  little  French 
soldiers,  flat  on  their  backs,  bright  with  paint  — 
167 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  wonder  how  they  feel  about  it?  "  he  asked 
Jean. 

"  About  what?  " 

"  Shut  up  in  a  box,  doing  nothing  — " 

As  the  lovers  drove  away,  Emily  stood  at  the 
window  looking  after  them.  There  was  one  cus- 
tomer in  the  shop,  but  Miss  Emily  had  a  feeling 
that  he  would  keep  himself  amused  until  she  was 
ready  to  wait  on  him.  She  had  intuitions  about 
the  people  who  came  to  buy,  and  this  tall  spare  man 
with  the  slight  droop  of  his  shoulders,  his  upstand- 
ing bush  of  gray  hair,  his  shell  glasses  on  a  black 
ribbon  was,  she  was  aware,  having  the  time  of  his 
life.  No  little  boy  could  have  spent  more  time  over 
the  toys.  He  fingered  them  lovingly  as  he  peered 
through  his  big  horn  glasses. 

He  saw  Miss  Emily  looking  at  him  and  smiling. 
"It  was  the  white  elephant  that  brought  me  in. 
He  was  made  in  Germany?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  get  them  any  more? '' 

"  No.  You  see  I  have  a  little  card  on  him  '  Not 
for  sale.' " 

He  nodded.    "  I  should  like  to  buy  him  — " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  have  refused  many  of- 
fers." 

"  I  can  understand  that.  Yet,  perhaps  if  I 
should  tell  you?" 

There  was  a  slight  trace  of  foreign  accent  in  his 
168 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

speech.  She  stiffened.  She  felt  that  he  was  capa- 
ble of  calling  her  "  Fraulein."  There  was  not  the 
least  doubt  in  her  mind  as  to  the  Teutonic  extrac- 
tion of  this  gentleman  who  was  shamelessly  trying 
to  induce  her  to  sell  her  elephant. 

"  I  can't  imagine  any  reason  that  would  make  me 
change  my  mind." 

"  My  father  is  German ;  he  makes  toys." 
She  showed  her  surprise.     "  Makes  toys?  " 
"  Yes.     He  is  an  old  man  —  eighty-five.     He  was 
born  in  Nuremberg.     Until  he  was  twenty-five  he 
made  elephants  like  the  one  in  your  window.    Now 
do  you  see?" 

She  was  not  sure  that  she  did  see.    "  Well?  " 
"  I  want  him  for  my  father's  Christmas  present." 
"Impossible,"  coldly;  "he  is  not  for  sale." 
He  was  still  patient.     "  He  will  make  you  an- 
other —  many  others." 

He  had  her  attention  now.  "  Make  —  ele- 
phants? " 

"  Yes.  He  needs  only  a  pattern.  There  are  cer- 
tain things  he  has  forgotten.  I  should  like  to  make 
him  happy." 

Miss  Emily,  hostilely  convinced  that  it  was  not 
her  business  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  any 
octogenarian  Hun,  shook  her  head,  "  I'm  sorry." 
"  Then  you  won't  sell  him  ?  " 
"  Certainly  not." 

He  still  lingered.     "  You  love  your  toys  —  I  have 
169 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

been  here  before,  and  I  have  watched  you.  They 
are  not  just  sawdust  and  wood  and  cloth  and  paint 
to  you  —  they  are  real  — " 

"  Yes." 

"  My  father  is  like  that.  They  are  real  to  him. 
There's  an  old  wax  doll  that  was  my  mother's.  He 
loves  her  and  talks  to  her — .  Because  she  was 
made  in  that  Germany  which  is  dead  — " 

The  fierceness  in  his  voice,  the  flash  of  his  eye,  the 
thrust  of  his  hand  as  if  it  held  a  rapier ! 

"Dead?" 

"  The  Germany  he  knew  died  when  Prussia  throt- 
tled her.  Her  poetry  died,  her  music  —  there  is  no 
echo  now  from  the  Rhine  but  that  of  —  guns  " 

«  You  feel  —  that  way  — ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  sit  down  and  tell  me  —  tell  me  — "  She 
was  eager. 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"About  your  father,  about  the  toys,  about  the 
Germany  that  is  —  dead." 

He  was  glad  to  tell  her.  It  poured  forth,  with 
now  and  then  an  offending  phrase,  "  Gott  in  Hiin- 
mel,  do  they  think  we  have  forgotten?  My  father 
came  to  America  because  he  loved  freedom  —  he 
fought  in  the  Civil  War  for  freedom  —  he  loves 
freedom  still ;  and  over  there  they  are  fighting  for 
slavery.  The  slavery  of  the  little  nations,  the 
slavery  of  those  who  love  democracy.  They  want 
170 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

Prussia,  and  more  Prussia,  and  more  Prussia — " 
He  struck  his  hand  on  the  counter  so  that  all  the 
dolls  danced. 

"  They  are  fighting  to  get  the  whole  world  under 
an  iron  heel  —  to  crush  —  to  grind  —  to  destroy. 
My  father  reads  it  and  weeps.  He  is  an  old  man, 
Fraulein,  and  his  mind  goes  back  to  the  Germany 
which  sang  and  told  fairy  tales,  and  made  toys ;  do 
you  see?  ,; 

"  Yet  there  are  people  here  who  do  not  under- 
stand, who  point  their  fingers  at  him,  at  me.  Who 
think  because  I  am  Ulrich  Sto'lle  that  I  am  not  — 
American.  Yet  what  am  I  but  that?  " 

He  got  up  and  walked  around  the  room  restlessly. 
"  I  am  an  American.  If  I  was  not  born  here,  can  I 
help  that?  But  my  heart  has  been  moulded  here. 
For  me  there  is  no  other  country.  Germany  I  love 
—  yes,  but  as  one  loves  a  woman  who  has  been  led 
away  —  because  one  thinks  of  the  things  she  might 
have  been,  not  of  the  thing  she  is." 

He  came  back  to  her.  "  Will  you  sell  me  your 
elephant,  Fraulein?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Her  eyes  were 
wet.  "  I  will  lend  him  to  your  father.  Indeed,  I 
cannot  sell  him." 

He  took  her  hand  in  a  strong  grasp.  "  I  knew 
you  were  kind.  If  you  could  only  see  my  father." 

"  Bring  him  here  some  day." 

"  He  is  too  old  to  be  brought.  He  sticks  close  to 
171 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

his  chair.  But  if  you  would  come  and  see  him? 
You  and  perhaps  the  young  lady  who  waited  on  me 
when  I  came  before,  and  who  was  here  to-day  with 
the  young  man  whose  heart  is  singing." 

"Oh,  you  saw  that?" 

"  It  was  there  for  the  whole  world  to  see,  was  it 
not?  A  man  in  love  hides  nothing.  You  will  bring 
them  then?  We  have  flowers  even  in  December  in 
our  hothouses ;  you  will  like  that,  and  you  shall  see 
my  father.  I  think  you  will  love  my  father,  Friiu- 
lein." 

After  he  had  gone  she  wondered  at  herself.  She 
had  trusted  her  precious  elephant  to  a  perfect 
stranger.  He  might  be  anything,  a  spy,  a  thief, 
with  his  "  Gotts  in  Himmel  "  and  his  "  Friiuleins  " 
—  how  Jean  would  laugh  at  her  for  her  sof  thearted- 


Oh,  but  he  wasn't  a  thief,  he  wasn't  a  spy.  He 
was  a  poet  and  a  gentleman.  She  made  very  few 
mistakes  in  her  estimates  of  the  people  who  came  to 
her  shop.  She  had  made,  she  was  sure,  no  mistake 
in  trusting  Ulrich  Stolle. 

Jean  and  Derry  motoring  to  Chevy  Chase  were 
far  away  from  the  world  of  the  Toy  Shop.  As  they 
whirled  along  the  country  roads  the  bare  trees 
seemed  to  bud  and  bloom  for  them,  the  sky  was  gold. 

The  lovely  clubhouse  as  they  came  into  it  was 
gay  with  big-flowered  curtains  and  warm  with  its 
roaring  fires. 

172 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  TIIIS? 

As  they  crossed  the  room  together,  they  attracted 
much  attention.  There  was  about  them  a  fine  air 
of  exaltation  — . 

"  Young  blood,  young  blood,"  said  an  old  gentle- 
man in  a  corner.  "  Gad,  I  envy  him.  Look  at  her 
eyes  — ! " 

But  there  was  more  than  her  eyes  to  look  at. 
There  were  her  cheeks,  and  her  crinkled  copper  hair 
under  the  little  hat,  and  the  flower  that  she  wore, 
and  her  white  hands  as  she  poured  the  tea. 

They  drank  unlimited  quantities  of  Orange  Pe- 
koe, and  ate  small  mountains  of  toast.  They  were 
healthily  happy  and  quite  unexpectedly  hungry, 
and  the  fact  that  they  were  sitting  alone  at  the  table 
gave  the  whole  thing  an  enchanting  atmosphere  of 
domesticity. 

"  Ralph  spoiled  it  the  other  day,"  Jean  confided. 
"  I  had  everything  ready  for  you." 

"  How  I  hated  him  when  I  came  in." 

"Oh,  did  you?" 

"  Of  course,"  and  then  they  both  laughed,  and  the 
old  gentleman  in  the  corner  said  to  the  woman  who 
sat  with  him,  "  Let's  get  away.  I  can't  stand  it." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"  You  wouldn't  see.  But  there  was  a  time  once 
when  I  loved  a  girl  like  that." 

Drusilla  and  Captain  Hewes  coming  in,  after  a 
canter  through  the  Park,  broke  in  upon  the  Para- 
dise of  the  young  pair. 

173 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Drusilla  in  riding  togs  still  managed  to  preserve 
the  picturesque  quality  of  her  beauty  —  a  cockade 
in  her  hat,  a  red  flower  in  her  lapel,  a  blue  tie 
against  her  white  shirt. 

"  And  she  does  it  so  well,"  Derry  said,  as  the  two 
came  towards  them.  "  In  most  women  it  would 
have  an  air  of  bad  taste,  but  Drusilla  never  goes  too 
far  — " 

Captain  Hewes  in  tow  showed  himself  a  captured 
man.  "  I  didn't  know  that  American  women  could 
ride  until  Miss  Gray  showed  me  —  today.  It  was 
rippin'." 

Drusilla  laughed.  "  It  is  worth  more  than  the 
ride  to  have  you  say  '  rippin' '  like  that." 

"  She  makes  fun  of  me,"  the  Captain  complained ; 
"some  day  I  shall  take  her  over  to  England  and 
show  her  how  our  gentle  maidens  look  up  to  me." 

"  Your  gentle  maidens,"  Drusilla  stated,  "  are 
driving  ambulances  or  making  munitions.  When 
the  Tommies  come  marching  home  again  they  will 
find  comrades,  not  clinging  vines." 

"  And  they'll  jolly  well  like  it,"  said  the  big  Eng- 
lishman ;  "  a  man  wants  a  woman  who  under- 
stands — " 

This  was  law  and  gospel  to  Derry.  "  Of  course. 
Jean,  dear,  may  I  tell  Drusilla?  " 

"  As  if  you  had  to  tell  me,"  Drusilla  scoffed ;  "  it 
is  written  all  over  you." 

"  Is  it?  "  Derry  marvelled. 
174 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

"  It  is.  The  whole  room  is  lighted  up  with  it. 
You  are  a  lucky  man,  Berry,' ' —  for  a  moment  her 
bright  eyes  were  shadowed  — "  and  Jean  is  a  lucky 
girl."  She  leaned  down  and  kissed  the  woman  that 
Derry  loved.  "  Oh,  you  Babes  in  the  Wood  — " 

"  By  Jove,"  the  Captain  ejaculated,  much  taken 
by  the  little  scene,  "  do  you  mean  that  they  are  go- 
ing to  be  married?  " 

"Rather,"  Brasilia  mocked  him.  "But  don't 
shout  it  from  the  housetops.  Derry  is  a  public  per- 
sonage, and  it  might  get  in  the  papers." 

"  It  is  not  to  get  in  the  papers  yet,"  Derry  said. 
"  Dr.  McKenzie  won't  let  me  tell  Dad  —  he's  too  ill 
—  but  we  told  you  because  you  are  my  good  friend, 
Drusilla." 

She  might  have  been  more  than  that,  but  he  did 
not  know  it.  When  he  went  away  with  Jean,  she 
looked  after  him  wistfully. 

"  Good-bye,  little  Galahad,"  she  said. 

The  Captain  stared.  "  Oh,  I  say,  do  you  call  him 
that?" 

She  nodded. 

"  He's  a  knight  in  shining  armor  — " 

"  I  can't  understand  why  he's  not  fightin'." 

"  Nobody  understands.  There's  something  back 
of  it,  and  meantime  people  are  calling  him  a 
coward  — " 

"  Doesn't  look  like  a  slacker." 

"  He  isn't.  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  said  wise 
175 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Drusilla,  "  that  it  might  be  his  father.     He's  a  gay 
old  bird,  and  Derry  has  to  jack  him  up." 

"Drink?" 

"Yes.  They  say  that  Derry  has  followed  him 
night  after  night  —  getting  him  home  if  he  could ; 
if  not,  staying  with  him." 

"Hard  lines—" 

"  And  yet  he  is  asking  little  Jean  to  marry  him. 
I  wonder  if  she  will  keep  step  with  him." 

"  Why  shouldn't  she?  " 

"  Because  Derry  is  going  to  travel  far  and  fast  in 
the  next  few  months,"  Drusilla  prophesied. 

Her  face  settled  into  tired  lines.  For  the  first 
time  the  Captain  saw  her  divorced  from  her  radi- 
ance. He  set  himself  to  cheer  her. 

"  What  is  troubling  you,  dear  woman?  " 

She  was  very  frank,  and  she  told  him  the  truth. 
"I  should  have  been  glad  to  keep  step  with  him 
myself." 

He  laid  his  hand  over  hers.  "  If  you  had,  where 
would  I  be?  From  the  moment  I  saw  you,  you  filled 
my  heart." 

So,  after  all,  she  had  been  to  him  from  the  first, 
not  a  type  but  a  woman.  It  had  come  to  him  like 
that,  but  not  to  her.  "  You're  the  bravest  and  best 
man  I  have  ever  met,"  she  told  him,  "  but  I  don't 
love  you." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  wait,"  said  the  poor  Captain, 
"  until  you  could  find  something  in  me  to  like." 
176 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

"  I  find  a  great  deal  to  like/'  she  said,  "  but  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  give  you  anything  less  than 
love." 

"  At  least  you'll  let  me  have  your  friendship  — 
to  take  back  with  me." 

She  looked  at  him,  startled.  "  Oh,  you  are  going 
back?" 

"  I  may  get  my  orders  any  day.  There  are  things 
I  can  be  doing  over  there." 

Some  day  she  was  to  see  him  "  over  there,"  to  see 
him  against  a  background  of  fire  and  flame  and 
smoke,  to  see  him  transfigured  by  heroism,  and  she 
was  to  remember  then  with  an  aching  heart  this  mo- 
ment when  he  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her. 

It  was  dark  when  Derry  brought  Jean  home. 
There  had  been  a  sunset  and  an  afterglow,  and  a 
twilight,  and  an  evening  star  to  ravish  them  as  they 
rode,  to  say  nothing  of  the  moon  —  they  came  to  the 
Doctor's  door  quite  dizzy  with  the  joy  of  it. 

Derry  was  loath  to  leave.  "  Can't  we  all  go  to  a 
play  tonight?  "  he  asked  Jean's  father.  "  You  and 
Miss  Bridges  and  the  two  of  us?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Jean  has  done  enough  to-day. 
She  isn't  made  of  iron." 

"  She  is  made  of  fire  and  dew,"  Derry  flung  at 
him,  lightly. 

"  Heavens,  has  it  come  to  that  ?  Well,  she  is  still 
my  daughter.  I  won't  have  her  ill  on  my  hands." 

"But,  Daddy!" 

177 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  You  are  to  have  a  quiet  dinner  with  me,  my 
dear,  and  go  to  bed  —  and  young  Lochinvar  may 
call  for  you  in  the  morning  — " 

Young  Lochinvar  was  repentant.  "I  didn't 
think  it  would  tire  her." 

"  Henceforth  you  will  have  to  think." 

"  I  know,  sir." 

He  was  so  meek  that  the  Doctor  melted.  "  Run 
along  and  say  i  Good-bye '  to  her.  I'll  give  you  ten 
minutes." 

They  wanted  ten  eternities.  But  there  was,  of 
course,  tomorrow.  They  comforted  themselves 
with  that. 

At  dinner,  the  Doctor  spoke  of  Derry's  father. 
"All  real  danger  is  past,  but  he  will  have  to  be 
careful." 

"  When  is  Hilda  coming  back?  " 

"  She  told  me  last  night  that  she'd  rather  stay 
until  there  was  no  further  need  for  a  nurse.  The 
General  hates  a  change,  and  he  has  asked  her  to 
stay." 

"  Does  she  like  it?  " 

"  She  is  very  comfortable." 

"  Derry  says  that  his  father  is  an  old  dear." 

"  He  would  think  so,  naturally." 

There  were  things  about  the  General's  case  which 

were  troubling  Dr.  McKenzie,  and  of  which  he  could 

not  speak.     The  old  man  had,  undoubtedly  been 

given  something  to  drink  on  Thanksgiving  Day. 

178 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

Hilda  had  had  strict  orders,  and  the  day  nurse,  and 
the  only  other  person  who  had  had  access  to  the 
General's  room  was  Bronson.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  speak  to  Derry  about  Bronson. 

The  meal  progressed  rather  silently.  The  Doctor 
was  preoccupied,  taciturn.  Miss  Emily  made  fu- 
tile efforts  at  conversation.  Jean  dallied  with  her 
dinner. 

"  My  dear,"  the  Doctor  commented  as  she  pushed 
away  her  salad,  "  you  can't  live  on  love." 

"I'm  not  hungry.  We  had  tea  at  the  Club. 
Drusilla  was  there  —  and  —  we  told  her." 

"  Told  her  what?  " 

Blushing  furiously,  "  That  Derry  and  I  are  going 
to  be  —  married." 

"  But  you  are  not.  Not  for  months.  If  that  cub 
thinks  he  can  carry  you  off  from  under  my  eyes  he 
is  mistaken.  You've  got  to  get  acquainted  with 
each  other  —  I  have  seen  too  many  unhappy  mar- 
riages." 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  be  unhappy,  Daddy." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

Her  cheeks  were  blazing.  Miss  Emily  interposed. 
"  Don't  tease  her,  she's  too  tired." 

"  If  he  is  teasing,  I  don't  care,"  Jean  said,  "  but 
it  always  sounds  as  if  he  meant  it." 

After  dinner,  the  Doctor  laid  his  hand  on  his 
daughter's  shoulder.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you, 
daughter." 

179 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

« Is  it  about  Derry,  Daddy?  " 

«  About  myself ." 

Emily,  understanding,  left  them  alone.  Jean  sat 
in  her  low  chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  her  earnest  eyes 
on  her  father.  "  Well,  Daddy." 

He  patted  her  hand.     It  was  hard  for  him  to 


She  saw  his  emotion.  "Is  —  is  it  because  I  am 
going  to  marry  Derry?  " 

"  That,  and  more  than  that.  Jean,  dear,  I  must 
go  to  Prance  — " 

"  To  France?  " 

"  Yes.  They  want  me  to  head  a  hospital.  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  refuse,  and  keep  my  self-respect. 
But  it  means  —  leaving  you." 

"  Leaving  me  — " 

"My  little  girl  — don't  look  like  that."  He 
reached  out  his  arms  to  her. 

She  came,  and  clung  to  him.     "  How  soon?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  wind  things  up  here." 

"  It  —  it  seems  as  if  I  couldn't  let  you." 

"  Then  you'll  miss  me,  dearest?  " 

"  You  know  I  will,  Daddy." 

"  But  you  will  have  your  Derry."  His  jealousy 
forced  that. 

"  As  if  it  makes  any  difference  about  —  you." 

She  hid  her  face  against  his  coat.  She  felt  sud- 
denly that  the  war  was  assuming  a  new  and  very 

180 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THISf 

personal  aspect.  Of  course  men  had  to  go.  But 
she  and  her  father  had  never  been  separated  —  not 
for  more  than  a  day  or  week,  or  a  month  when  she 
was  at  the  shore. 

"How  long,  Daddy?" 

"  God  knows,  dearest.     Until  I  am  not  needed." 

"  But  — "  her  lip  trembled. 

"  You  are  going  to  be  my  brave  little  girl." 

"  I'll  try  — "  the  tears  were  running  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  me  not  go,  would  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  sobbed  on  his  shoulder. 
He  soothed  her  and  presently  she  sat  up.  Quite  gal- 
lantly she  agreed  that  she  would  stay  with  Emily. 
If  he  thought  she  was  too  young  to  marry  Derry 
now,  she  would  wait.  If  Derry  went  into  it,  it 
might  be  easier  to  let  him  go  as  a  lover  than  as  a 
husband  —  she  thought  it  might  be  easier.  Yes, 
she  would  try  to  sleep  when  she  went  upstairs  — 
and  she  would  remember  that  her  old  Daddy  loved 
her,  loved  her,  and  she  was  to  ask  God  to  bless  him 
—  and  keep  him  —  when  they  were  absent  one  from 
the  other  — . 

She  kissed  him  and  clung  to  him  and  then  went 
upstairs.  She  undressed  and  said  her  prayers,  put 
Polly- Ann  on  her  cushion,  turned  off  the  light,  and 
got  into  bed. 

Then  she  lay  in  the  dark,  facing  it  squarely. 
181 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  things  she  had  said  to  her  father  were  not 
true.  She  didn't  want  him  to  go  to  France.  She 
didn't  want  Derry  to  go.  She  was  glad  that  Der- 
ry's  mother  had  made  him  promise.  She  didn't 
care  who  called  him  a  coward.  She  cared  only  to 
keep  her  own. 

There  wasn't  any  sense  in  it,  anyhow.  Why 
should  Daddy  and  Derry  be  blown  to  pieces  —  or 
made  blind  —  or  not  come  back  at  all?  Just  be- 
cause a  barbarian  had  brought  his  hordes  into  Bel- 
gium? Well,  let  Belgium  take  care  of  herself  — 
and  France. 

She  shuddered  deeper  down  into  the  bed.  She 
wasn't  heroic.  Hilda  had  been  right  about  that. 
She  was  willing  to  knit  miles  and  miles  of  wool,  to 
go  without  meat,  to  go  without  wheat,  to  wear  old 
clothes,  to  let  the  furnace  go  out  and  sit  shivering 
in  one  room  by  a  wood  fire,  she  was  willing  to 
freeze  and  to  starve,  but  she  was  not  willing  to 
send  her  men  to  France. 

She  found  herself  shaking,  sobbing  — . 

Hitherto  war  had  seemed  a  glorious  thing,  an  in- 
spiring thing.  She  had  thrilled  to  think  that  she 
was  living  in  a  time  which  matched  the  days  of 
Caesar  and  Alexander  and  of  Napoleon,  of  that  first 
Richard  of  England,  of  Charlemagne,  of  Nelson 
and  of  Francis  Drake,  of  Grant  and  Lee  and  Lin- 
coln. 

182 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

Even  in  fiction  there  had  been  Ivanhoe  and  — 
and  Alan  Breck  —  and  even  poor  Kawdon  Crawley 
at  Waterloo  —  fighters  all,  even  the  poorest  of  them, 
exalted  in  her  eyes  by  their  courage  and  the  clash 
of  arms. 

But  there  wasn't  any  glory,  any  romance  in  this 
war.  It  was  machine  guns  and  bombs  and  dirt, 
and  cold  and  mud;  and  base  hospitals,  and  men 
screaming  writh  awful  wounds  —  and  gas,  and  hor- 
rors, and  nerve-shock  and  —  frightfulness.  She 
had  read  it  all  in  the  papers  and  in  the  magazines. 
And  it  had  not  meant  anything  to  her,  it  had  been 
just  words  and  phrases,  and  now  it  was  more  than 
words  and  phrases  — . 

When  the  hordes  of  people  had  swept  into  Wash- 
ington, changing  it  from  its  gracious  calm  into  a 
seething  and  unsettling  center  of  activities,  she  had 
been  borne  along  on  the  wings  of  enthusiasm  and 
of  high  endeavor.  She  had  scolded  women  who 
would  not  work,  she  had  scorned  mothers  and  wives 
who  had  sighed  and  sobbed  because  their  men  must 
go.  She  had  talked  of  patriotism ! 

Well,  she  wasn't  patriotic.  Derry  would  prob- 
ably hate  her  when  she  told  him.  But  she  was  go- 
ing to  tell  him.  She  wouldn't  have  him  blown  to 
pieces  or  made  blind  or  not  come  back  at  all.  And 
in  the  morning,  she  would  beg  Daddy  —  she  would 
beg  and  beg ! 

183 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

As  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  wildly  about  her, 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  corners  of  the  little  room 
were  haunted  by  specters.  A  long  time  ago  she  had 
seen  Maude  Adams  in  "  L'Aiglon."  She  remem- 
bered now  those  wailing  voices  of  the  dead  at 
Wagram.  And  in  this  war  millions  of  men  had 
died.  It  seemed  to  her  that  their  souls  must  be 
pressing  against  the  wall  which  divided  them  from 
the  living  —  that  their  voices  must  penetrate  the 
stillness  which  had  always  shut  them  out.  "  How 
dare  you  go  on  with  it?  Are  men  made  only  for 
this?  " 

She  remembered  now  the  thing  that  her  father 
had  said  on  the  night  after  "  Cinderella." 

"  If  I  had  my  way,  it  should  be  an  eye  for  an  eye, 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth.  For  every  man  that  they  have 
tortured,  we  must  torture  one  of  theirs.  For  every 
child  mutilated,  we  must  mutilate  a  child  —  for 
every  woman  — " 

Her  Daddy  had  said  that.  Her  kind  and  tender 
Daddy.  Was  that  what  the  war  made  of  men? 
Would  Daddy  and  Derry,  when  they  went  over,  do 
that?  Torture  and  mutilate?  Would  they,  would 
they?  And  would  they  come  back  after  that  and 
expect  her  to  love  them  and  live  with  them? 

Well,  she  wouldn't.  She  would  not.  She  would 
be  afraid  of  them  —  of  both  of  them. 

If  they  loved  her,  they  would  stay  with  her. 
They  wouldn't  go  away  and  leave  her  to  be  afraid  — « 
184 


ARE  MEN  MADE  ONLY  FOR  THIS? 

alone  and  crying  in  the  dark,  with  all  of  those  dead 
voices. 

Emily  tapped  at  the  door.  Came  in.  "  My  dear, 
my  dear  — .  Oh,  my  poor  little  Jean." 

After  a  long  time  her  father  was  there,  and  he 
was  giving  her  a  white  tablet  and  a  drink  of  water. 

"  It  will  quiet  her  nerves,  Emily.  I  didn't  dream 
that  she  would  take  it  like  this." 


185 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SHINING  SOULS 

THE  next  morning  Jean  was  ill.  Derry,  having 
the  news  conveyed  to  him  over  the  telephone,  rushed 
in  to  demand  tragically  of  Dr.  McKenzie,  "  Was  it 
my  fault?  " 

"  It  was  the  fault  of  too  much  excitement. 
Seventh  heaven  with  you  for  hours,  and  then  my 
news  on  top  of  it." 

"  What  news?  " 

The  Doctor  explained.  "  It  is  going  to  tear  me 
to  pieces  if  she  takes  it  like  this.  She  was  half- 
delirious  all  night,  and  begged  and  begged  — " 

"  She  doesn't  want  you  to  go?  " 

The  Doctor  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 
"  Well,  we've  been  a  lot  to  each  other.  But  she's 
such  a  little  sport  —  and  patriotic  —  nobody  more 
so.  She  won't  feel  this  way  when  she's  herself 
again." 

Derry  stood  drearily  at  the  window  looking  out. 
"  You  think  then  she  won't  be  able  to  see  me  for 
several  days?  I  had  planned  such  a  lot  of  things." 

The  Doctor  dropped  a  hand  on  the  boy's  shoul- 
der. "  Life  has  a  way  of  spoiling  our  plans,  hasn't 
it?  I  had  hoped  for  old  age  with  Jean's  mother." 
186 


SHINING  SOULS 

That  was  something  for  youth  to  think  of  —  of 
life  spoiling  things  —  of  lonely  old  age ! 

"  I  wish,"  Derry  said,  after  a  pause,  "  that  you'd 
let  me  marry  her  before  you  go." 

"  No,  no,"  sharply,  "  she's  too  young,  Drake. 
And  you  haven't  known  each  other  long  enough." 

"  Things  move  rapidly  in  these  days,  sir." 

The  Doctor  agreed.  "  It  is  one  of  the  significant 
developments.  We  had  become  material.  And 
now  fire  and  flame.  But  all  the  more  reason  why 
I  should  keep  my  head.  Jean  will  be  safe  here 
with  Emily.  And  you  may  go  any  day." 

"  I  wish  I  might  think  so.  I'd  be  there  now  if  I 
weren't  bound." 

"  It  won't  hurt  either  of  you  to  wait  until  I  come 
back,"  was  the  Doctor's  ultimatum,  and  Derry, 
longing  for  sympathy,  left  him  presently  and  made 
his  way  to  the  Toy  Shop. 

"  If  we  were  to  wait  ten  years  do  you  think  I'd 
love  her  any  more  than  I  do  now?  "  he  demanded  of 
Emily.  "  I  should  think  he'd  understand." 

"  Men  never  do  understand,"  said  Emily  — 
"fathers.  They  think  their  own  romance  was 
unique,  or  they  forget  that  there  was  ever  any  ro- 
mance." 

"  If  you  could  put  in  a  word  for  us,"  ventured 
Derry. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  do  any  good ;  Bruce 
is  a  Turk." 

187 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

A  customer  came,  and  Derry  lingered  discon- 
solately while  Emily  served  her.  More  customers, 
among  them  a  tall  spare  man  with  an  upstanding 
bush  of  gray  hair.  He  had  a  potted  plant  in  his 
arms,  wrapped  in  tissue  paper.  He  set  it  on  the 
counter  and  went  away. 

When  Miss  Emily  discovered  the  plant,  she  asked 
Derry,  "  Who  put  it  there?  " 

Derry  described  the  man.  "  You  were  busy.  He 
didn't  stop." 

The  plant  was  a  cyclamen,  blood-red  and  beauti- 
ful. 

Miss  Emily  managed  to  remark  casually  that  she 
had  loaned  his  father  an  elephant,  perhaps  he  had 
felt  that  he  ought  to  make  some  return  —  but  he 
needn't  — . 

"  An  elephant?  " 

"Not  a  real  one.  But  the  last  of  my  plush 
beauties." 

She  set  the  cyclamen  on  a  shelf,  and  wrapped  up 
the  parcel  of  toys  which  Derry  had  bought  the  day 
before.  "  I  may  as  well  take  them  to  Margaret 
Morgan's  kiddies,"  he  told  her.  "  I  want  to  tell 
her  about  Jean." 

After  Derry  had  gone,  Miss  Emily  stood  looking 
at  the  cyclamen  on  the  shelf.  It  was  a  lovely  thing, 
with  a  dozen  blooms.  She  wished  that  her  bene- 
factor had  stayed  to  let  her  thank  him.  She  was 
188 


SHINING  SOULS 

not  sure  that  she  even  knew  where  to  send  a  note. 

She  hunted  him  up  in  the  telephone  book,  and 
found  him  —  Ulrich  Stolle.  His  hot-houses  were 
on  the  old  Military  Road.  She  remembered  now  to 
have  seen  them,  and  to  have  remarked  the  house, 
which  was  peaked  up  in  several  gables,  and  had 
quaint  brightly-colored  iron  figures  set  about  the 
garden  —  with  pointed  caps  like  the  graybeards  in 
Eip  van  Winkle,  or  the  dwarf  in  Rumpelstiltzkin. 

When  Berry's  car  slid  up  to  Margaret's  door,  he 
saw  the  two  children  at  an  upper  window.  They 
waved  to  him  as  he  rang  the  bell.  He  waited  sev- 
eral moments  and  no  one  came  to  open  the  door. 
He  turned  the  knob  and,  finding  it  unlatched,  let 
himself  in. 

As  he  went  through  the  hall  he  was  aware  of  a 
strange  stillness.  Not  a  maid  was  in  sight.  Pass- 
ing Margaret's  room  on  the  second  floor  he  heard 
voices. 

The  children  were  alone  in  the  nursery.  It  was 
flooded  with  sunlight.  Margaret-Mary's  pink  wash 
frock,  Teddy's  white  linen  —  yellow  jonquils  in  a 
blue  bow  —  snowy  lambs  gambolling  on  a  green 
frieze  —  Bo-peeps,  flying  ribbons  —  it  was  a  cheer- 
ing and  charming  picture. 

"  How  gay  you  are,"  said  Deny. 

"  We  are  not  gay  in  our  hearts,"  Teddy  told  him. 

"Why  not?" 

189 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"Mother's  crying  —  we  heard  hep,  and  then 
Nurse  went  down  and  left  us,  and  we  looked  out  of 
the  window  and  you  came." 

Berry's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  "Cry- 
ing?" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Margaret  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old. There  were  no  tears,  but  it  was  worse  than 
tears. 

He  started  towards  her,  but  with  a  gesture  she 
stopped  him. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  —  here,"  she  said. 

"  My  dear  —  what  is  it?  " 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  her  head.  "  Teddy,  dear- 
est," she  asked,  "can  you  take  care  of  Margaret- 
Mary  until  Cousin  Deny  comes  back?  I  want  to 
talk  to  him." 

Teddy's  grave  eyes  surveyed  her.  "  You've  been 
cryin',"  he  said.  "  I  told  Cousin  Berry  — " 

"Yes.  I  have  had  —  bad  news.  But  —  I  am 
not  going  to  cry  —  any  more.  And  you'll  take  care 
of  sister?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  old  chap,"  said  Berry  resourcefully, 
"  you  and  Margaret-Mary  can  open  my  parcel,  and 
when  I  come  back  we'll  all  play  together." 

Outside  with  Margaret,  with  the  door  shut  on  the 
children,  he  put  his  arm  about  her.  "  Is  it  Win  — 
is  he  — hurt?" 

"  He  is  —  oh,  Berry,  Berry,  he  is  dead ! " 

Even  then  she  did  not  cry.  "The  children 
190 


SHINING  SOULS 

mustn't  know.  Not  till  I  get  a  grip  on  myself. 
They  mustn't  think  of  it  as  —  sad.  They  must 
think  of  it  as  —  glorious  —  that  he  went  —  that 
way— ." 

Held  close  in  his  arms,  she  shook  with  sobs,  si- 
lent, hard.  He  carried  her  down  to  her  room.  The 
maids  were  gathered  there  —  Nurse  utterly  useless 
in  her  grief.  It  came  to  Derry,  as  he  bent  over 
Margaret,  that  he  had  always  thought  of  Nurse  as 
a  heartless  automaton,  playing  Chorus  to  Teddy, 
yet  here  she  was,  a  weeping  woman  with  the  rest 
of  them. 

He  sent  all  of  the  servants  away,  except  Nurse, 
and  then  Margaret  told  him,  "  He  was  in  one  of  the 
French  towns  which  the  Germans  had  vacated,  and 
he  happened  to  pick  up  a  toy  —  that  some  little 
child  might  have  dropped  —  and  there  was  an  ex- 
plosive hidden  in  it  —  and  that  child's  toy  killed 
him,  Derry,  killed  him  — " 

"  My  God,  Margaret  — " 

"They  had  put  it  there  that  it  might  kill  a  — 
child!" 

"  Derry,  the  children  mustn't  know  how  it  hap- 
pened. They  mustn't  think  of  him  as  —  hurt. 
They  know  that  something  is  the  matter.  Can  you 
tell  them,  Derry?  So  that  they  will  think  of  him 
as  fine  and  splendid,  and  going  up  to  Heaven  be- 
cause God  loves  brave  men  — ?  " 

It  was  a  hard  task  that  she  had  set  him,  and 
191 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

when  at  last  he  left  her,  he  went  slowly  up  the 
stairs. 

The  children  had  strung  the  Midnight  Camels 
across  the  room,  the  purple,  patient  creatures  that 
Jean  had  made. 

"  The  round  rug  is  an  oasis,"  Teddy  explained, 
"  and  the  jonquil  is  a  palm  —  and  we  are  going  to 
save  the  dates  and  figs  from  our  lunch." 

"  I  want  my  lunch,"  Margaret-Mary  complained. 

Derry  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  after  twelve. 
The  servants  were  all  demoralized.  "  See  here,"  he 
said,  "  you  sit  still  for  a  moment,  and  I'll  go  down 
for  your  tray." 

He  brought  it  up  himself,  presently,  bread  and 
milk  and  fruit. 

They  sat  on  the  oasis  and  ate,  with  the  patient 
purple  camels  grouped  in  the  shade  of  the  jonquil 
palm. 

Then  Derry  asked,  "  Shall  I  tell  you  the  story  of 
How  the  Purple  Camels  Came  to  Paradise?  " 

"  Yes,"  they  said,  and  he  gathered  little  Margaret- 
Mary  into  his  arms,  and  Teddy  lay  flat  on  the  floor 
and  looked  up  at  him,  while  Derry  made  his  difficult 
way  towards  the  thing  he  had  to  tell. 

"You  see,  the  purple  camels  belonged  to  the 
Three  Wise  Men,  the  ones  who  journeyed,  after  the 
Star  —  do  you  remember?  And  found  the  little 
baby  who  was  the  Christ?  And  because  the  purple 
camels  had  followed  the  Star,  the  good  Lord  said 
192 


SHINING  SOULS 

to  them,  '  Some  day  you  shall  journey  towards 
Paradise,  and  there  you  shall  see  the  shining  souls 
that  dwell  in  happiness.'  " 

"  Do  their  souls  really  shine?  "  Teddy  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Why?  » 

"  Because  of  the  light  in  Paradise  —  the  warm, 
sweet  light,  clearer  than  the  sunshine,  Teddy, 
brighter  than  the  moon  and  the  stars  — ." 

The  children  sighed  rapturously.  "Go  on," 
Teddy  urged. 

"  So  the  patient  camels  began  their  wonderful 
pilgrimage  —  they  crossed  the  desert  and  rounded 
a  curve  of  the  sea,  and  at  last  they  came  to  Para- 
dise, and  the  gate  was  shut  and  they  knelt  in  front 
of  it,  and  they  heard  singing,  and  the  sound  of 
silver  trumpets,  and  at  last  the  gate  swung  back, 
and  they  saw  —  what  do  you  think  they  saw?  " 

"  The  shining  souls,"  said  Teddy,  solemnly. 

"  Yes,  the  shining  souls  in  all  that  lovely  light  — 
there  were  the  souls  of  happy  little  children,  and  of 
good  women,  but  best  of  all,"  his  voice  wavered  a 
little,  "  best  of  all,  there  were  the  souls  of  —  brave 
men." 

"  My  father  is  a  brave  man." 

Was,  oh,  little  Teddy! 

"  And  the  purple  camels  said  to  the  angels  who 
guarded  the  gate,  '  We  have  come  because  we  saw 
the  little  Christ  in  the  manger.' 
193 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  And  the  angel  said,  "  It  is  those  who  see  Him 
who  enter  Paradise.'  So  the  patient  purple  camels 
went  in  and  the  gates  were  shut  behind  them,  and 
there  they  will  live  in  the  warm,  sweet  light 
throughout  the  deathless  ages." 

"What  are  de-yethless  ages,  Cousin  Derry?" 

"  Forever  and  ever." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  It  is  all  about  the  camels  —  but  not  all  about 
the  shining  souls." 

"  Tell  us  the  rest." 

He  knew  that  he  was  bungling  it,  but  at  last  he 
brought  them  to  the  thought  of  their  father  in 
Paradise,  because  the  dear  Lord  loved  to  have  him 
there. 

"  But  if  he's  there,  he  can't  be  here,"  said  the 
practical  Teddy. 

"  No." 

"  I  want  him  here.  Doesn't  Mother  want  him 
here?  " 

"Well  — yes." 

"  Is  she  glad  to  have  him  go  to  Paradise?  " 

"Not  exactly  — glad." 

"  Was  that  why  she  was  crying?  " 

"  Yes.  Of  course  she  will  miss  him,  but  it  is  a 
wonderful  thing  just  the  same,  Teddy,  when  you 
think  of  it  —  when  you  think  of  how  your  own 
father  went  over  to  France  because  he  was  sorry  for 
all  the  poor  little  children  who  had  been  hurt,  and 
194 


SHINING  SOULS 

for  all  the  people  who  had  suffered  and  suffered 
until  it  seemed  as  if  they  must  not  suffer  any  more 
—  and  he  wanted  to  help  them,  and  —  and  — " 

But  here  he  stumbled  and  stopped.  "  I  tell  you, 
Teddy,"  he  said,  as  man  to  man,  "  it  is  going  to  hurt 
awfully,  not  to  see  him.  But  you've  got  to  be 
careful  not  to  be  too  sorry  —  because  there's  your 
Mother  to  think  of." 

"  Is  she  crying  now?  " 

"  Yes.  Down  there  on  her  bed.  Could  you  be 
very  brave  if  you  went  down,  and  told  her  not  to 
be  sorry?  " 

"  Brave,  like  my  Daddy?  " 

"  Yes." 

Margaret-Mary  was  too  young  to  understand  — 
she  was  easily  comforted.  Derry  sang  a  little  song 
and  her  eyes  drooped. 

But  downstairs  the  little  son  who  was  brave  like 
his  father,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  held  his 
mother's  hand.  "  He's  in  Paradise  with  the  purple 
camels,  Mother,  and  he's  a  shining  soul  — ." 

It  was  a  week  before  Jean  went  with  Derry  to  see 
Margaret.  It  had  been  a  week  of  strange  happen- 
ings, of  being  made  love  to  by  Derry  and  of  getting 
Daddy  ready  to  go  away.  She  had  reached  heights 
and  depths,  alternately.  She  had  been  feverishly 
radiant  when  with  her  lover.  She  had  resolved 
that  she  would  not  spoil  the  wonder  of  these  days 
by  letting  him  know  her  state  of  mind. 
195 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  nights  were  the  worst.  None  of  them  were 
as  bad  as  the  first  night,  but  her  dreams  were  of 
battles  and  bloodshed,  and  she  waked  in  the  morn- 
ings with  great  heaviness  of  spirit. 

What  Derry  had  told  her  of  Margaret's  loss 
seemed  but  a  confirmation  of  her  fears.  It  was 
thus  that  men  went  away  and  never  returned — . 
Oh,  how  Hilda  would  have  triumphed  if  she  could 
have  looked  into  Jean's  heart  with  its  tremors  and 
terrors ! 

She  came,  thus,  into  the  room,  where  Margaret 
sat  with  her  children. 

"  I  want  you  two  women  to  meet,"  Derry  said,  as 
he  presented  Jean,  "  because  you  are  my  dearest  — " 

"  He  has  told  me  so  much  about  you," —  Margaret 
put  her  arm  about  Jean  and  kissed  her  — "  and  he 
has  used  all  the  adjectives  —  yet  none  of  them  was 
adequate." 

Jean  spoke  tensely.  "  It  doesn't  seem  right  for 
us  to  bring  our  happiness  here." 

"Why  not?  This  has  always  been  the  place  of 
happiness?  "  She  caught  her  breath,  then  went  on 
quickly,  "You  mustn't  think  that  I  am  heartless. 
But  if  the  women  who  have  lost  should  let  them- 
selves despair,  it  would  react  on  the  living.  The 
wailing  of  women  means  the  weakness  of  men.  I 
believe  that  so  firmly  that  I  am  afraid  to  —  cry." 

"  You  are  braver  than  I  — "  slowly. 
196 


SHINING  SOULS 

"  No.  You'd  feel  the  same  way,  dear  child,  about 
Derry." 

"  No.  I  should  not.  I  shouldn't  feel  that  way 
at  all.  I  should  die  —  if  I  lost  Derry  — " 

Light  leaped  in  her  lover's  eyes.  But  he  shook 
his  head.  "  She'd  bear  it  like  other  brave  women. 
She  doesn't  know  herself,  Margaret." 

"  None  of  us  do.  Do  you  suppose  that  the  wives 
and  mothers  of  France  ever  dreamed  that  it  would 
be  their  fortitude  which  would  hold  the  enemy 
back?" 

"Do  you  think  it  did,  really?"  Jean  asked  her. 

"  I  know  it.  It  has  been  a  barrier  as  tangible  as 
a  wall  of  rock." 

"  You  put  an  awful  responsibility  upon  the 
women." 

"  Why  not?    They  are  the  mothers  of  men." 

They  sat  down  after  that,  and  Jean  listened 
frozenly  while  Margaret  and  Derry  talked.  The 
children  in  front  of  the  fire  were  looking  at  the  pic- 
tures in  a  book  which  Derry  had  brought. 

Teddy,  stretched  at  length  on  the  rug  in  his  fa- 
vorite attitude,  was  reading  to  Margaret-Mary. 
His  mop  of  bright  hair,  his  flushed  cheeks,  his  active 
gestures  spoke  of  life  quick  in  his  young  body  — . 

And  his  father  was  —  dead  — ! 

Oh,  oh,  Mothers  of  men  — ! 


197 


CHAPTER  XV 

HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

IT  was  Dr.  McKenzie  who  told  Hilda  of  Jean's 
engagement  to  Derry  Drake. 

"  I  thought  it  best  for  them  not  to  say  anything 
to  the  General  until  he  is  better.  So  you  may  con- 
sider it  confidential,  Hilda." 

"  Of  course." 

She  had  come  to  his  office  to  help  him  with  his 
books.  The  nurse  who  somewhat  inadequately  sup- 
plied her  place  was  having  an  afternoon  off.  The 
Doctor  had  been  glad  to  see  her,  and  had  told  her 
so.  "  I  am  afraid  things  are  in  an  awful  muddle." 

"  Not  so  bad  that  they  can't  be  straightened  out 
in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  insist  upon  staying  on  the 
General's  case.  I  shouldn't  have  sent  you  if  I  had 
thought  you'd  keep  at  it  like  this." 

"  I  always  keep  at  things  when  I  begin  them, 
don't  I?" 

He  knew  that  she  did.  It  was  one  of  the  quali- 
ties which  made  her  valuable.  "  I  believe  that  you 
are  staying  away  to  let  me  see  how  hard  it  is  to  get 
along  without  you." 

198 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

"  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea,  but  that's  not  the 
reason.  I  am  staying  because  I  like  the  case." 
She  shifted  the  topic  away  from  herself. 

"  People  will  say  that  Jean  has  played  her  cards 
well." 

He  blazed,  "  What  do  you  mean,  Hilda?  " 

"  He  has  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  " 

Her  smile  was  irritating.  "  Oh,  I  know  you  are 
not  mercenary.  But  a  million  or  two  won't  come 
amiss  in  any  girl's  future  —  and  two  country 
houses,  and  a  house  in  town." 

"  You  seem  to  know  all  about  it." 

"  The  General  talks  a  lot  —  and  anyhow,  all  the 
world  knows  it.  It's  no  secret." 

"I  rather  think  that  Jean  doesn't  know  it.  I 
haven't  told  her.  She  realizes  that  he  is  rich,  but 
it  doesn't  seem  to  have  made  much  impression  on 
her." 

"Most  people  will  think  she  is  lucky  to  have 
caught  him." 

"  He's  not  a  fish,"  with  rising  anger,  "  and  as  for 
Jean,  she'd  marry  him  if  he  hadn't  a  penny,  and 
you  know  it,  Hilda." 

Hilda  considered  that  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
said,  "  Is  it  his  money  or  his  father's?  " 

"  Belongs  to  the  old  man.  Derry's  mother  had 
nothing  but  an  irreproachable  family  tree." 

Hilda's  long  hands  were  clasped  on  the  desk,  her 
199 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

eyes  were  upon  them.  "  If  he  shouldn't  like  his 
son's  marriage,  he  might  make  things  uncomfort- 
able." 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  like  my  Jean?  " 

"He  probably  will.  But  there's  always  the 
chance  that  he  may  not.  He  may  be  more  ambi- 
tious." 

Dr.  McKenzie  ran  his  fingers  through  his  crinkled 
hair.  "  She's  good  enough  for  —  a  king." 

"  You  think  that,  naturally,  but  he  isn't  the  dot- 
ing father  of  an  only  daughter." 

"  If  he  thinks  that  my  daughter  isn't  good  enough 
for  his  son  — " 

"You  needn't  shout  at  me  like  that,"  calmly; 
"  but  he  knows  as  well  as  you  do  that  Derry  Drake's 
millions  could  get  him  any  girl." 

He  had  a  flashing  sense  of  the  coarse  fiber  of 
Hilda's  mental  make-up.  "  My  Jean  is  a  well-born 
and  well-bred  woman,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  It  is  a 
thing  that  money  can't  buy." 

"  Money  buys  a  very  good  counterfeit.  Lots  of 
the  women  who  come  here  aren't  ladies,  not  in  the 
sense  that  you  mean  it,  but  on  the  surface  you  can't 
tell  them  apart." 

He  knew  that  it  was  true.  No  one  knows  better 
than  a  doctor  what  is  beneath  the  veneer  of  social 
convention  and  personal  hypocrisy. 

"And  as  for  Jean,"  her  quiet  voice  analyzed, 
"what  do  you  know  of  her,  really?  You've  kept 
200 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

her  shut  away  from  the  things  that  could  hurt  her, 
but  how  do  you  know  what  will  happen  when  you 
open  the  gate?  " 

Yet  Emily  had  said  — ?  His  hand  came  down  on 
top  of  the  desk.  "  I  think  we  won't  discuss  Jean." 

"  Very  well,  but  you  brought  it  on  yourself.  And 
now  please  go  away,  I've  got  to  finish  this  and  get 
back  — " 

He  went  reluctantly,  and  returned  to  say, "  You'll 
come  over  again  before  I  sail,  and  straighten  things 
out  for  me?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  don't  act  as  if  you  cared  whether  I  went  or 
not." 

"  I  care,  of  course.  But  don't  expect  me  to 
cry.  I  am  not  the  crying  kind."  The  little  room 
was  full  of  sunlight.  She  was  very  pink  and  white 
and  self-possessed.  She  smiled  straight  up  into  his 
face.  "  What  good  would  it  do  me  to  cry? 

After  she  had  left  him  he  was  restless.  She  had 
been  for  so  long  a  part  of  his  life,  a  very  necessary 
and  pleasant  part  of  it.  She  never  touched  his 
depths  or  rose  to  his  heights.  She  seemed  to 
beckon,  yet  not  to  care  when  he  came. 

He  spoke  of  her  that  night  to  Emily.  "Hilda 
was  here  to-day  and  she  reminded  me  that  people 
might  think  that  my  daughter  is  marrying  Derry 
Drake  for  his  money." 

"  She  would  look  at  it  like  that." 
201 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  When  Hilda  talks  to  me  " —  he  was  rumpling 
his  hair  — "  I  have  a  feeling  that  all  the  people  in 
the  world  are  unlovely  — " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  unlovely  people,"  said  Em- 
ily, "but  why  should  we  worry  with  what  they 
think?" 

She  was  knitting,  and  he  found  himself  watching 
her  hands.  "  You  have  pretty  hands,"  he  told  her, 
unexpectedly. 

She  held  them  out  in  front  of  her.  "  When  I  was 
a  little  girl  my  mother  told  me  that  I  had  three 
points  of  beauty  —  my  hands,  my  feet,  and  the  fam- 
ily nose,"  she  smiled  whimsically,  "  and  she  assured 
me  that  I  would  therefore  never  be  common-place. 
'Any  woman  may  be  beautiful,'  was  her  theory, 
'  but  only  a  woman  with  good  blood  in  her  veins 
can  have  hands  and  feet  and  a  nose  like  yours  — .' 
I  was  dreadfully  handicapped  in  the  beginning  of 
my  life  by  my  mother's  point  of  view.  I  am  afraid 
that  even  now  if  the  dear  lady  looks  down  from 
Heaven  and  sees  me  working  in  my  Toy  Shop  she 
will  feel  the  family  disgraced  by  this  one  member 
who  is  in  trade.  It  was  only  in  the  later  years  that 
I  found  myself,  that  I  realized  how  I  might  reach 
out  towards  things  which  were  broader  and  bigger 
than  the  old  ideals  of  aristocratic  birth  and  inher- 
ited possessions." 

He  thought  of  Hilda.  "Yet  it  gave  you  some- 
thing, Emily,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  not  every 
202 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

woman  has:  good-breeding,  and  the  ability  to  look 
above  the  sordid.  You  are  like  Jean  —  all  your 
world  is  rose-colored." 

She  was  thoughtful.  "  Not  quite  like  Jean.  I 
heard  a  dear  old  bishop  ask  the  other  day  why  we 
should  see  only  the  ash  cans  and  garbage  cans  in 
our  back  yards  when  there  was  blue  sky  above?  I 
know  there  are  ash  cans  and  garbage  cans,  but  I 
make  myself  look  at  the  sky.  Jean  doesn't  know 
that  the  cans  are  there." 

"  The  realists  will  tell  you  that  you  should  keep 
your  eyes  on  the  cans." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Miss  Emily,  stoutly ; 
"  more  people  are  made  good  by  the  contemplation 
of  the  fine  and  beautiful  than  by  the  knowledge  of 
evil.  Eve  knew  that  punishment  would  follow  the 
eating  of  the  apple.  But  she  ate  it.  If  I  had  a 
son  I  should  tell  him  of  the  strength  of  men,  not  of 
their  weaknesses." 

He  nodded.  "  I  see.  And  yet  there  is  this  about 
Hilda.  She  does  not  deceive  herself ;  —  perhaps 
you  do  —  and  Jean." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  Hilda  who  is  deceived.  All  the 
people  in  the  world  are  not  unlovely  —  all  of  them 
are  not  mercenary  and  deceitful  and  selfish."  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed. 

"  Nobody  knows  that  better  than  a  doctor,  Emily. 
I  am  conscious  that  Hilda  draws  out  the  worst  in 
me  —  yet  there  is  something  about  her  that  makes 
203 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

me  want  to  find  things  out,  to  explore  life  with 
her—" 

He  was  smiling  into  the  fire.  Miss  Emily  girded 
herself  and  gave  him  a  shock.  "  The  trouble  with 
you  is  that  you  want  the  admiration  of  every  woman 
who  comes  your  way.  Most  of  your  patients  wor- 
ship you  —  Jean  puts  you  on  a  pedestal  —  even  I 
tell  you  that  you  have  a  soul.  But  Hilda  withholds 
the  admiration  you  demand,  and  you  want  to  con- 
quer her  —  to  see  her  succumb  with  the  rest  of  us." 

"  The  rest  of  you !  Emily,  you  have  never  suc- 
cumbed." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I  seem  to  be  saying,  *  He  may 
have  a  few  weaknesses,  but  back  of  it  all  he  is  big 
and  fine/  But  Hilda's  attitude  indicates,  '  He  is 
not  fine  at  all.'  And  you  hate  that  and  want  to 
show  her." 

He  chuckled.  "  By  Jove,  I  do,  Emily.  Perhaps 
it  is  just  as  well  that  I  am  getting  away  from  her." 

"  I  wouldn't  admit  it  if  I  were  you.  I'd  rather 
see  you  face  a  thing  than  run  away." 

"  If  Eve  had  run  away  from  the  snake  in  the 
apple  tree,  she  would  not  have  lost  her  Eden  — 
poor  Eve." 

"  Poor  Adam  —  to  follow  her  lead.  He  should 
have  said,  '  No,  my  dear,  apples  are  not  permitted 
by  the  Food  Administrator;  we  must  practice  self- 
denial.'  " 

204 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

"  I  think  I'd  rather  have  him  sinning  than  such 
a  prig." 

"  It  depends  on  the  point  of  view." 

He  enjoyed  immensely  crossing  swords  with 
Emily.  There  was  never  any  aftermath  of  unpleas- 
antness. She  soothed  him  even  while  she  criticised. 

They  spoke  presently  of  Jean  and  Derry. 

"  They  want  to  get  married." 

"  Well,  why  not?  " 

"  She's  too  young,  Emily.  Too  ignorant  of  what 
life  means  —  and  he  may  go  to  France  any  day. 
He  is  getting  restless  —  and  he  may  see  things  dif- 
ferently —  that  his  duty  to  his  country  transcends 
any  personal  claim  —  and  then  what  of  Jean?  —  a 
little  wife  —  alone." 

"  She  could  stay  with  me." 

"  But  marriage,  marriage,  Emily  —  why  in  Heav- 
en's name  should  they  be  in  such  a  hurry?  " 

"  Why  should  they  wait,  and  miss  the  wonder  of 
it  all,  as  I  have  missed  it  —  all  the  color  and  glow, 
the  wine  of  life?  Even  if  he  should  go  to  France, 
and  die,  she  will  bear  his  beloved  name  —  she  will 
have  the  right  to  weep." 

He  had  never  seen  her  like  this  —  the  red  was 
deep  in  her  cheeks,  her  voice  was  shaken,  her  bosom 
rose  and  fell  with  her  agitation. 

"  Emily,  my  dear  girl  — " 

"  Let  them  marry,  Bruce,  can't  you  see?  Can't 
205 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

you  see.  It  is  their  day  —  there  may  be  no  tomor- 
row." 

"  But  there  are  practical  things.  Emily.  If  she 
should  have  a  child?  " 

"Why  not?  It  will  be  his  — to  love.  Only  a 
woman  with  empty  arms  knows  what  that  means, 
Bruce.'' 

And  this  was  Emily,  this  rose-red,  wet-eyed  crea- 
ture was  Emily,  whom  he  had  deemed  unemotional, 
cold,  self-contained! 

"  Men  forget,  Bruce.  You  wouldn't  listen  to 
reason  when  you  wooed  Jean's  mother.  You  were 
a  demanding,  imperative  lover  —  you  wanted  your 
own  way,  and  you  had  it." 

"  But  I  had  known  Jean's  mother  all  my  life." 

"  Time  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  My  dear  girl  — " 

"It  hasn't." 

She  was  illogical,  and  he  liked  it.  "  If  I  let  them 
marry,  what  then?  " 

"  They  will  love  you  for  it" 

"  They  ought  to  love  you  instead." 

"  I  shall  be  out  of  it.  They  will  be  married,  and 
you  will  be  in  France,  and  I  shall  sell  —  toys  — " 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a  poor  excuse.  He 
glanced  at  her  quickly.  "  Shall  you  miss  me, 
Emily?  " 

Her  hands  went  out  in  a  little  gesture  of  de- 
206 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

lr.  "  There  you  go,  taking  my  tears  to  your- 
self." 

He  was  a  bit  disconcerted.     "  Oh,  I  say  — " 

"  But  they  are  not  for  you.  They  are  for  my 
lost  youth  and  romance,  Bruce.  My  lost  youth  and 
romance." 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair  he  studied  her.  Her 
eyes  were  dreamy  —  the  rose-red  was  still  in  her 
cheeks.  For  the  first  time  he  realized  the  prettiness 
of  Emily ;  it  was  as  if  in  her  plea  for  others  she  had 
brought  to  life  something  in  herself  which  glowed 
and  sparkled. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  write  to 
me." 

"  I  am  a  busy  woman." 

"  But  a  letter  now  and  then  — " 

"  Well,  now  and  then  — " 

He  was  forced  to  be  content  with  that.  She  was 
really  very  charming,  he  decided  as  he  got  into  his 
car.  She  was  such  a  gentlewoman  —  she  created 
an  atmosphere  which  belonged  to  his  home  and 
hearth. 

When  he  came  in  late  she  was  not  waiting  up  for 
him  as  Hilda  had  so  often  waited.  There  was  a 
plate  of  sandwiches  on  his  desk,  coffee  ready  in  the 
percolator  to  be  made  by  the  turning  on  of  the  elec- 
tricity. But  he  ate  his  lunch  alone. 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  loneliness,  he  was  glad  that 
207 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Emily  had  not  waited  up  for  him.  It  was  a  thing 
which  Hilda  might  do  —  Hilda,  who  made  a  world 
of  her  own.  But  Emily's  world  was  the  world  of 
womanly  graciousness  and  dignity  —  the  world  in 
which  his  daughter  moved,  the  world  which  had 
been  his  wife's.  For  her  to  have  eaten  alone  with 
him  in  his  office  in  the  middle  of  the  night  would 
have  made  her  seem  less  than  he  wanted  her  to  be. 

Before  he  went  to  bed,  he  called  up  Hilda.  "  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  when  you  were  here  this  after- 
noon that  I  asked  young  Drake  about  Bronson. 
He  says  that  it  isn't  possible  that  the  old  man  is 
giving  the  General  anything  against  orders. 
You'd  better  wratch  the  other  servants  and  be  sure 
of  the  day  nurse  — " 

"  I  am  sure  of  her  and  of  the  other  servants  — 
but  I  still  have  my  doubts  about  Bronson." 

"  But  Drake  says  — " 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  says.  Bronson  served  the 
General  before  he  served  young  Drake  —  and  he's 
not  to  be  trusted." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  so ;  he  impresses  me 
as  a  faithful  old  soul." 

"Well,  my  eyes  are  rather  clear,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know.    Good-night,  Hilda." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver.  She  had  talked  to  him 
at  the  telephone  in  the  lower  hall,  which  was  en- 
closed, and  where  one  might  be  confidential  with- 
out being  overheard. 

208 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

She  sat  very  still  for  a  few  moments  in  the  little 
booth,  thinking ;  then  she  rose  and  went  upstairs. 

The  General  was  awake  and  eager. 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you?  "  Hilda  asked. 

"  No,  I'd  rather  talk." 

She  shaded  the  light  and  sat  beside  the  little 
table.  "  Did  you  like  your  dinner?  " 

"Yes.  Bronson  said  you  made  the  broth.  It 
was  delicious." 

"  I  like  to  cook  —  when  I  like  the  people  I  cook 
for." 

He  basked  in  that. 

"  There  are  some  patients  —  oh,  I  have  wanted  to 
salt  their  coffee  and  pepper  their  cereal.  You  have 
no  idea  of  the  temptations  which  come  to  a  nurse." 

"  Are  you  fond  of  it  —  nursing?  " 

"Yes.  It  is  nice  in  a  place  like  this  —  and  at 
Dr.  McKenzie's.  But  there  are  some  houses  that 
are  awful,  with  everybody  quarrelling,  the  children 
squalling  — .  I  hate  that.  I  want  to  be  comfort- 
able. I  like  your  thick  carpets  here,  and  the  quiet, 
and  the  good  service.  And  the  good  things  to  eat, 
and  the  little  taste  of  wine  that  we  take  together." 
Her  low  laugh  delighted  him. 

"  The  wine?  You  are  going  to  drink  another 
glass  with  me  before  I  go  to  sleep." 

"Yes.  But  it  is  our  secret.  Dr.  McKenzie 
would  kill  me  if  he  knew,  and  a  nurse  must  obey 
orders." 

209 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  He  need  never  know.     And  it  won't  hurt  me." 

"  Of  course  not.  But  he  has  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

"May  I  have  it  now?" 

"  Wait  until  Bronson  goes  to  bed." 

"  Bronson  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  servant 
has  neither  ears  nor  eyes." 

"It  might  embarrass  him  if  the  Doctor  asked 
him.  And  why  should  you  make  him  lie?  " 

Bronson,  pottering  in,  presently,  was  told  that 
he  would  not  be  needed.  "  Mr.  Derry  telephoned 
that  he  would  be  having  supper  after  the  play  at 
Miss  Gray's.  You  can  call  him  there  if  he  is 
wanted." 

"  Thank  you,  Bronson.     Good-night." 

When  the  old  man  had  left  them,  she  said  to  the 
General,  "  Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  falling  in 
love?" 

"In  love?" 

"Yes,  desperately  — at  first  sight?" 

He  laughed.     "  With  whom?  " 

"  Dr.  McKenzie's  daughter." 

"  What?  "    He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

"Yes.  Jean  McKenzie.  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
ought  to  tell  you,  but  somehow  it  doesn't  seem  right 
that  you  are  not  being  told  — " 

He  considered  it  gravely.  "  I  don't  want  him  to 
get  married,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  want  him  to  go 
to  war.  I  can't  tell  you,  Miss  Merritt,  how  bitter 
210 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

my  disappointment  has  been  that  Derry  won't 
fight." 

"  He  may  have  to  fight." 

"  Do  you  think  I  want  him  dragged  to  defend  the 
honor  of  his  country?  I'd  rather  see  him  dead." 
He  was  struggling  for  composure. 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  have  told  you,"  she  said,  so- 
licitously. 

"  Why  not?    It  is  my  right  to  know." 

"  Jean  is  a  pretty  little  thing,  and  you  may  like 
her." 

"  I  like  McKenzie,"  thoughtfully. 

She  glanced  at  him.  His  old  face  had  fallen 
into  gentler  lines.  She  gave  a  hard  laugh.  "Of 
course,  a  rich  man  like  your  son  rather  dazzles  the 
eyes  of  a  young  girl  like  Jean." 

"  You  think  then  it  is  his  —  money?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  that.  But,  of  course, 
money  adds  to  his  charms." 

"  He  won't  have  any  money,"  grimly,  "  unless  I 
choose  that  he  shall.  I  can  stop  his  allowance  to- 
morrow. And  what  would  the  little  lady  do  then?  " 

She  shrugged.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  She'd 
probably  take  Kalph  Witherspoon.  He's  in  the 
race.  She  dropped  him  after  she  met  your  son." 

The  General's  idea  of  women  was  somewhat  ex- 
alted. He  had  an  old-fashioned  chivalry  which 
made  him  blind  to  their  faults,  the  champion  of 
their  virtues.  He  had  always  been,  therefore,  to  a 
211 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

certain  extent,  at  the  mercy  of  the  unscrupulous. 
He  had  loaned  money  and  used  his  influence  in  be- 
half of  certain  wily  and  weeping  females  who  had 
deserved  at  his  hands  much  less  than  they  got. 

In  his  thoughts  of  a  wife  for  Derry,  he  had  pic- 
tured her  as  sweet  and  unsophisticated  —  a  bit  re- 
served, like  Berry's  mother  — 

The  portrait  which  Hilda  had  subtly  presented 
was  of  a  mercenary  little  creature,  Jured  by  the 
glitter  of  gold  —  off  with  the  old  and  on  with  the 
new,  lacking  fineness. 

"  I  can  stop  his  allowance,"  he  wavered.  "  It 
would  be  a  good  test.  But  I  love  the  boy.  The 
war  has  brought  the  first  misunderstandings  be- 
tween Derry  and  me.  It  would  have  hurt  his 
mother.'* 

Hilda  was  always  restless  when  the  name  was  in- 
troduced of  the  painted  lady  on  the  stairs.  When 
the  General  spoke  of  his  wife,  his  eyes  grew  kind  — 
and  inevitably  his  thoughts  drifted  away  from 
Hilda  to  the  days  that  he  had  spent  with  Derry's 
mother. 

"  She  loved  us  both,"  he  said. 

Hilda  rose  and  crossed  the  room.  A  low  book- 
case held  the  General's  favorite  volumes.  There 
was  a  Globe  edition  of  Dickens  on  the  top  shelf, 
little  fat  brown  books,  shabby  with  much  handling. 
Hilda  extracted  one,  and  inserted  her  hand  in  the 
212 


HILDA  BREAKS  THE  RULES 

hollow  space  back  of  the  row.  She  brought  out  a 
small  flat  bottle  and  put  the  book  back. 

"  I  always  keep  it  behind  *  Great  Expectations,'  " 
she  said,  as  she  approached  the  bed.  "It  seems 
rather  appropriate,  doesn't  it?  " 

The  old  eyes,  which  had  been  soft  with  memories, 
glistened. 

She  filled  two  little  glasses.  "  Let  us  drink  to 
our  —  secret." 

Then  while  the  wine  was  firing  his  veins,  she 
spoke  again  of  Jean  and  Derry.  "  It  really  seems 
as  if  he  should  have  told  you." 

"I  won't  have  him  getting  married.  He  can't 
marry  unless  he  has  money." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  it  to  him.  I  don't  want 
to  get  into  trouble.  You  wouldn't  want  to  get  me 
into  trouble,  would  you?  " 

"No." 

She  filled  his  glass  again.  He  drank.  Bit  by 
bit  she  fed  the  fire  of  his  doubts  of  his  son.  When 
at  last  he  fell  asleep  in  his  lacquered  bed  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  rather  drastic  action. 

She  sat  beside  him,  her  thoughts  flying  ahead 
into  the  years.  She  saw  things  as  she  wanted  them 
to  be  —  Derry  at  odds  with  his  father ;  married  to 
Jean ;  herself  mistress  of  this  great  house,  wearing 
the  diamond  crown  and  the  pearl  collar;  her  por- 
trait in  the  place  of  the  one  of  the  painted  lady  on 
213 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

the  stairs;  looking  down  on  little  Jean  who  had 
judged  her  by  youth's  narrow  standards  —  whose 
husband  would  have  no  fortune  unless  he  chose  to 
accept  it  at  her  hands. 

Thus  she  weighed  her  influence  over  the  sleep- 
ing sick  man,  thus  she  dreamed,  calm  as  fate  in  her 
white  uniform. 


214 


CHAPTER  XVI 

!TEAN-JOAN 

DRUSILLA  GRAY'S  little  late  suppers  were  rather 
famous.  It  was  not  that  she  spent  so  much  money, 
but  that  she  spent  much  thought. 

Tonight  she  was  giving  Captain  Hewes  a  sweet 
potato  pie.  "He  has  never  eaten  real  American 
things,"  she  said  to  Jean.  "  Nice  homey-cooked 
things  — " 

"  No  one  but  Drusilla  would  ever  think  of  pie  at 
night,"  said  Marion  Gray,  "but  she  has  set  her 
heart  on  it." 

There  were  some  very  special  hot  oyster  sand- 
wiches which  preceded  the  pie  —  peppery  and  sav- 
ory with  curls  of  bacon. 

"  I  hope  you  are  hungry,"  said  Drusilla  as  her  big 
black  cook  brought  them  in.  "Aunt  Chloe  hates 
to  have  things  go  back  to  the  kitchen." 

Nothing  went  back.  There  was  snow  without,  a 
white  whirl  in  the  air,  piling  up  at  street  corners, 
a  night  for  young  appetites  to  be  on  edge. 

"  Jove,"  said  the  Captain,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  "  how  I  shall  miss  all  this!  " 

Jean  turned  her  face  towards  him,  startled. 
"Miss  it?" 

215 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"Yes.  I  am  going  back  —  got  my  orders  to- 
day." 

Brasilia  was  cutting  the  pie.  "  Isn't  it  glori- 
ous!" 

Jean  gazed  at  her  with  something  like  horror. 
Glorious!  How  could  Brasilia  go  on,  like  Wer- 
ther's  Charlotte,  calmly  cutting  bread  and  butter? 
Captain  Hewes  loved  her,  anybody  with  half  an  eye 
could  see  that  —  and  whether  she  loved  him  or  not, 
he  was  her  friend  —  and  she  called  his  going  "  glo- 
rious!" 

"  I  was  afraid  my  wound  might  put  me  on  the 
shelf,"  the  Captain  said. 

"  He  is  ordered  straight  to  the  front,"  Brasilia 
elucidated.  "  This  is  his  farewell  feast." 

After  that  everything  was  to  Jean  funeral  baked 
meats.  The  pie  deep  in  its  crust,  rich  with  eggs 
and  milk,  defiant  of  conservation,  was  as  sawdust 
to  her  palate. 

Glorious ! 

Well,  she  couldn't  understand  Margaret.  She 
couldn't  understand  Brasilia.  She  didn't  want  to 
understand  them. 

"  Some  day  I  shall  go  over,"  Brasilia  was  saying. 
"  I  shall  drive  something  —  it  may  be  a  truck  and 
it  may  be  an  ambulance.  But  I  can't  sit  here  any 
longer  doing  nothing." 

"  I  think  you  are  doing  a  great  deal,"  said  Jean. 
"  Look  at  the  committees  you  are  managing." 
216 


JEAN-JOAN 

"  Oh,  things  like  that,"  said  Drusilla  contemptu- 
ously. "  Women's  work.  I'm  not  made  to  knit 
and  keep  card  indexes.  I  want  a  man's  job." 

There  was  something  almost  boyish  about  her  as 
she  said  it.  She  had  parted  her  hair  on  the  side, 
which  heightened  the  effect.  "  In  the  old  days,"  she 
told  Captain  Hewes,  "  I  should  have  worn  doublet 
and  hose  and  have  gone  as  your  page." 

"  Happy  old  days  — ." 

"  And  I  should  have  written  a  ballad  about  you," 
said  Marion,  "  and  have  sung  it  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  my  harp  —  and  my  pot-boilers  wrould  never 
have  been.  And  we  should  all  have  worn  trains 
and  picturesque  headdresses  instead  of  shirtwaists 
and  sports  hats,  and  I  should  have  called  some  man 
'my  Lord,'  and  have  listened  for  his  footsteps  in- 
stead of  ending  my  days  in  single  blessedness  with 
a  type-writer  as  my  closest  companion." 

Everybody  laughed  except  Jean.  She  broke  her 
cheese  into  small  bits  with  her  fork,  and  stared 
down  at  it  as  if  cheese  were  the  most  interesting 
thing  in  the  whole  wide  wrorld. 

It  was  only  two  weeks  since  they  had  had  the 
news  of  Margaret's  husband  —  only  a  month  since 
he  had  died.  And  Winston  had  been  Captain 
Hewes'  dear  friend;  he  had  been  Derry's.  Would 
anybody  laugh  if  Derry  had  been  dead  only  four- 
teen days? 

She  tried,  however,  to  swing  herself  in  line  with 
217 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

the  others.  "  Shall  you  go  before  Christmas? " 
she  asked  the  Captain. 

"Yes.  And  Miss  Gray  had  asked  me  to  dine 
with  her.  You  can  see  what  I  am  missing  —  my 
first  American  Christmas." 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  little  tree/'  said  Dru- 
silla,  "  and  ask  all  of  you  to  come  and  hang  pres- 
ents on  it." 

Jean  had  always  had  a  tree  at  Christmas  time. 
From  the  earliest  days  of  her  remembrance,  there 
had  been  set  in  the  window  of  the  little  drawing 
room,  a  young  pine  brought  from  the  Doctor's 
country-place  far  up  in  Maryland.  On  Christmas 
Eve  it  had  been  lighted  and  the  doors  thrown  open. 
Jean  could  see  her  mother  now,  shining  on  one  side 
of  it,  and  herself  coming  in,  in  her  nurse's  arms. 

There  had  been  a  star  at  the  top,  and  snow  pow- 
dered on  the  branches  —  and  gold  and  silver  balls 
—  and  her  presents  piled  beneath  —  always  a  doll 
holding  out  its  arms  to  her.  There  had  been  the 
first  Rosie-Dolly,  more  beloved  than  any  other, 
made  of  painted  cloth,  with  painted  yellow  curls, 
and  dressed  in  pink  with  a  white  apron.  Rosie 
was  a  wreck  of  a  doll  now,  her  features  blurred 
and  her  head  bald  with  the  years  —  but  Jean  still 
loved  her,  with  something  left  over  of  the  adoration 
of  her  little  girl  days.  Then  there  was  Maude, 
named  in  honor  of  the  lovely  lady  who  had  played 
"  Peter  Pan,"  and  the  last  doll  that  Jean's  mother 
218 


JEAN-JOAN 

had  given  her.  Maude  had  an  outfit  for  every 
character  in  which  Jean  had  seen  her  prototype  — 
there  were  the  rowan  berries  and  shawl  of  "  Bab- 
bie," the  cap  and  jerkin  of  "  Peter  Pan,"  the  feath- 
ers and  spurs  of  "  Chantecler  " —  such-  a  trunkful, 
and  her  dearest  mother  had  made  them  all  — . 

And  Daddy!  How  Daddy  had  played  Santa 
Glaus,  in  red  cloth  and  fur  with  a  wide  belt  and 
big  boots,  every  year,  even  last  year  when  she  was 
nineteen  and  ready  to  make  her  bow  to  society. 
And  now  he  might  never  play  Santa  Glaus  again  — 
for  before  Christmas  had  come  he  would  be  on  the 
high  seas,  perhaps  on  the  other  side  of  the  seas  — 
at  the  edge  of  No  Man's  Land.  And  there  would 
be  no  Star,  no  dolls,  no  gold  and  silver  balls  —  for 
the  nation  which  had  given  Santa  Glaus  to  the 
world,  had  robbed  the  world  of  peace  and  of  good- 
will. It  had  robbed  the  world  of  Christmas ! 

She  came  back  to  hear  the  Captain  saying,  "  I 
want  you  to  sing  for  me  —  Drusilla." 

They  rose  and  went  into  the  other  room. 

"  Tired,  dearest?  "  Derry  asked,  as  he  found  a 
chair  for  her  and  drew  his  own  close  to  it. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired,"  she  told  him,  «  but  I  hate 
to  think  that  Captain  Hewes  must  go." 

"  I'd  give  the  world  to  be  going  with  him." 

Her  hands  were  clasped  tightly.  "Would  you 
give  me  up?  " 

"You?  I  should  never  have  to  give  you  up, 
219 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

thank  God.    You   would   never  hold   me  back." 

"  Shouldn't  I,  Derry?" 

"My  precious,  don't  I  know?  Better  than  you 
know  yourself." 

Drusilla  and  the  Captain  were  standing  by  the 
wide  window  which  looked  out  over  the  city.  The 
snow  came  down  like  a  curtain,  shutting  out  the 
sky. 

"  Do  you  think  she  loves  him?  "  Jean  asked. 

"I  hope  so,"  heartily. 

"  But  to  send  him  away  so  —  easily.  Oh,  Derry, 
she  can't  care." 

"She  is  sending  him  not  easily,  but  bravely. 
Margaret  let  her  husband  go  like  that." 

"  Would  you  want  me  to  let  you  go  like  that, 
Derry?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Wouldn't  you  want  me  to  —  cry?  " 

"Perhaps.  Just  a  little  tear.  But  I  should 
want  you  to  think  beyond  the  tears.  I  should  want 
you  to  know  that  for  us  there  can  be  no  real  separa- 
tion. You  are  mine  to  the  end  of  all  eternity, 
Jean." 

He  believed  it.  And  she  believed  it.  And  per- 
haps, after  all,  it  was  true.  There  must  be  a  very 
separate  and  special  Heaven  for  those  who  love 
once,  and  never  love  again. 

Drusilla  came  away  from  the  window  to  sing  for 
them  —  a  popular  song.  But  there  was  much  in  it 
220 


JEAN-JOAN 

to  intrigue  the  imagination  —  a  vision  of  the  heroic 
Maid  —  a  hint  of  the  Marseillaise  —  and  so  the  na- 
tions were  singing  it  — . 

"Jeanne  d'Arc,  Jeanne  d'Arc, 
Oh,  soldats!  entendez  vous? 
'Aliens,  enfants  de  la  patrie,' 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  la  victoire  est  pour  vous — " 

There  was  a  new  note  in  Drusilla's  voice.  A 
note  of  tears  as  well  as  of  triumph  —  and  at  the 
last  word  she  broke  down  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

In  the  sudden  stillness,  the  Captain  strode  across 
the  room  and  took  her  hands  away  from  her  face. 

"  Drusilla,"  he  said  before  them  all,  "  do  you 
care  as  much  as  that?  " 

She  told  him  the  truth  in  her  fine,  frank  fashion. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  do  care,  Captain,  but  I  want 
you  to  go." 

"And  oh,  Derry,  I  am  so  glad  she  cried,"  Jean 
said,  when  they  were  driving  home  through  the 
snow-storm.  "  It  made  her  seem  so  —  human." 

Derry  drew  her  close.  "  Such  a  thing  couldn't 
have  happened,"  he  said,  "  at  any  other  time.  Do 
you  suppose  that  a  few  years  ago  any  of  us  would 
have  been  keyed  up  to  a  point  where  a  self-con- 
tained Englishman  could  have  asked  a  girl,  in  the 
face  of  three  other  people,  if  she  loved  him,  and 
have  had  her  answer  like  that?  It  was  beautiful, 
beautiful,  Jean-Joan  — '* 

221 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  held  her  breath.  "Why  do  you  call  me 
that?  " 

"  She  lived  for  France.  You  shall  live  for 
France  —  and  me." 

The  snow  shut  them  in.  There  was  the  warmth 
of  the  car,  of  the  fur  rugs  and  Derry's  fur  coat, 
Jean's  own  velvet  wrap  of  heavenly  blue,  the  fra- 
grance of  her  violets.  Somewhere  far  away  men 
were  fighting  —  there  was  the  mud  aiid  cold  of  the 
trenches  —  somewhere  men  were  suffering. 

She  tried  not  to  think  of  them.  Her  cheek  was 
against  Berry's.  She  was  safe  —  safe. 

Captain  Hewes  went  away  that  night  Drusilla's 
accepted  lover.  He  put  a  ring  on  her  finger  and 
kissed  her  "  good-bye,"  and  with  his  head  high  faced 
the  months  that  he  must  be  separated  from  her. 

"  I  will  come  back,  dear  woman." 

"  I  shall  see  you  before  that,"  she  told  him.  "  I 
am  coming  over." 

"  I  shall  hate  to  have  you  in  it  all.  But  it  will 
be  Heaven  to  see  you." 

When  he  had  gone,  Drusilla  went  into  Marion 
Gray's  study. 

Marion  looked  up  from  her  work.  She  was  cor- 
recting manuscript,  pages  and  pages  of  it.  "  Well, 
do  you  want  me  to  congratulate  you,  Drusilla?  " 

Drusilla  sat  down.  "  I  don't  know,  Marion.  He 
222 


JEAN-JOAN 

is  the  biggest  and  finest  man  I  have  ever  met, 
but  — " 

"  But  what?  " 

"  I  wanted  love  to  come  to  me  differently,  as  it 
has  come  to  Jean  and  Derry  — without  any  doubts. 
I  wanted  to  be  sure.  And  I  am  not  sure.  I  only 
know  that  I  couldn't  let  him  go  without  making 
him  happy." 

"Then  is  it  — pity?" 

"  No.  He  means  more  to  me  than  that.  But  I 
gave  way  to  an  impulse  —  the  music,  and  his  sad 
eyes.  And  then  I  cried,  and  he  came  up  to  me  — 
fancy  a  man  coming  up  before  you  all  like  that  — " 

"  It  was  quite  the  most  dramatic  moment,"  said 
the  lady  who  wrote.  "  Quite  unbelievable  in  real 
life.  One  finds  those  things  occasionally  in  fic- 
tion." 

"  It  was  as  if  there  were  just  two  of  us  alone  in 
the  world,"  Drusilla  confessed,  "  and  I  said  what  I 
did  because  I  simply  couldn't  help  it.  And  it  was 
true  at  the  moment;  I  think  it  is  always  going  to 
be  true.  If  I  marry  him  I  shall  care  a  great  deal. 
But  it  has  not  come  to  me  just  as  I  had  —  dreamed." 

"  Nothing  is  like  our  dreams,"  said  Marion,  and 
dropped  her  pen.  "  That's  why  I  write.  I  can 
give  my  heroine  all  the  bliss  for  which  she  yearns." 

Drusilla  stood  up.  "  You  mustn't  misunderstand 
me,  Marion.  I  am  very  happy  in  the  thought  of  my 
223 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

good  friend,  of  my  great  lover.  It  is  only  that  it 
hasn't  quite  measured  up  to  what  I  expected." 

"  Nothing  measures  up  to  what  we  expect." 

"  And  now  Jean  belongs  to  Derry,  and  I  belong 
to  my  gallant  and  good  Captain.  I  shall  thank 
God  before  I  sleep  tonight,  Marion." 

"  And  he'll  thank  God  — ." 

They  kissed  each  other,  and  Drusilla  went  to 
bed,  and  the  next  morning  she  wrote  a  letter  to  her 
Captain,  which  he  carried  next  to  his  heart  and 
kissed  when  he  got  a  chance. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  WHITE  CAT 

DERBY,  going  quietly  to  his  room  that  night,  did 
not  stop  at  the  General's  door.  He  did  not  want 
to  speak  to  Hilda,  he  did  not  want  to  speak  to  any- 
one, he  wanted  to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts  of 
Jean  and  that  perfect  ride  with  her  through  the 
snow. 

He  was,  therefore,  a  little  impatient  to  find 
Bronson  waiting  up  for  him. 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  to  go  to  bed,  Bronson." 

"  You  did,  sir,  but  —  but  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"  Can't  it  wait  until  morning?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  say  it  now,  Mr.  Derry."  The 
old  man's  eyes  were  anxious.  "It's  about  your 
father—" 

"  Father?  " 

"  Yes.     I  told  you  I  didn't  like  the  nurse." 

"MissMerritt?    Well?" 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  get  you  to  bed,  sir.  It's  a 
rather  long  story,  and  you'd  be  more  comfortable." 

"  You'd  be  more  comfortable,  you  mean,  Bron- 
son." The  im  tient  note  had  gone  out  of  Berry's 
225 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

voice.  Temporarily  he  pigeon-holed  his  thoughts 
of  Jean,  and  gave  his  attention  to  this  servant  who 
was  more  than  a  servant,  more  even  than  a  friend. 
To  Derry,  Bronson  wore  a  sort  of  halo,  like  a  good 
old  saint  in  an  aneient  woodcut. 

Propped  up  at  last  among  his  pillows,  pink  from 
his  bath  and  in  pale  blue  pajamas,  Derry  listened  to 
what  the  old  man  had  to  say  to  him. 

Bronson  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  straight-backed 
chair  with  Muffin  at  his  knees.  "From  the  first 
day  I  had  a  feeling  that  she  wasn't  just  —  straight. 
I  don't  know  why,  but  I  felt  it.  She  had  one  way 
with  the  General  and  another  with  us  servants. 
But  I  didn't  mind  that,  not  much,  until  she  went 
into  your  mother's  room." 

"  My  mother's  room?  "  sharply.  "  What  was  she 
doing  there,  Bronson?  " 

"  That's  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  sir.  You 
know  that  place  on  the  third  floor  landing,  where  I 
sits  and  looks  through  at  your  father  when  he  ain't 
quite  himself,  and  won't  let  me  come  in  his  room? 
Well,  there  was  one  night  that  I  was  there  and 
watched  her  — " 

Berry's  quick  frown  rebuked  him.  "You 
shouldn't  have  done  that,  Bronson." 

"  I  had  a  feeling,  sir,  that  things  were  going 
wrong,  and  that.the  General  wasn't  always  himself. 
I  shouldn't  ever  have  said  a  thing  to  you,  Mr. 
Derry,"  earnestly,  "  if  I  hadn't  seen  what  I  did." 
226 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "  That  first  night  I  saw 
her  open  the  door  between  your  father's  room  and 
the  sitting  room,  and  she  did  it  careful  and  quiet 
like  a  person  does  when  they  don't  want  anybody 
to  know.  The  sitting  room  was  dark,  but  I  went 
down  and  stood  behind  the  curtain  in  the  General's 
door,  and  I  could  see  through,  and  there  was  a  light 
in  your  mother's  room  and  a  screen  set  before  it." 

"  I  took  a  big  chance,  but  I  slid  into  the  sitting 
room,  and  I  could  see  her  on  the  other  side  of  the 
screen,  and  she  had  opened  the  safe  behind  the 
Chinese  scroll,  and  she  was  trying  on  your  mother's 
diamonds." 

"What!" 

Bronson  nodded  solemnly.  "  Yes,  sir,  she  had 
'em  on  her  head  and  her  neck  and  her  fingers  — ." 

"You  don't  mean  —  that  she  took  anything." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  she's  no  common  thief.  But  she 
looked  at  herself  in  the  glass  and  strutted  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  bowing  and 
smiling  like  a  —  fool." 

"  Then  the  telephone  rang,  and  I  had  to  get  out 
pretty  quick,  before  she  came  to  answer  it.  I  went 
to  bed,  but  I  didn't  sleep  much,  and  the  next  night 
I  watched  her  again.  I  watch  every  night." 

Derry  considered  the  situation.  "  I  don't  like  it 
at  all,  Bronson.  But  perhaps  it  was  just  a  woman's 
vanity.  She  wanted  to  see  how  she  looked." 

"  Well,  she's  seen  —  and  she  ain't  going  to  be 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

satisfied  with  that.  She'll  want  to  wear  them  all 
the  time  — " 

"Of  course,  she  can't,  Bronson.  She  isn't  as 
silly  as  to  think  she  can." 

"  Perhaps  not,  sir."  Bronson  opened  his  lips 
and  shut  them  again. 

"There's  something  else,  sir,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  I've  found  out  that  she's  giving  the  Gen- 
eral things  to  drink." 

"Hilda?"  Derry  said,  incredulously.  "Oh, 
surely  not,  Bronson.  The  Doctor  has  given  her 
strict  orders  — ." 

"  She's  got  a  bottle  behind  the  books,  and  she 
pours  him  a  glass  right  after  dinner,  and  another 
before  he  goes  to  sleep,  and  —  and  —  you  know  he'd 
sell  his  soul  for  the  stuff,  Mr.  Derry." 

Derry  did  know.  It  had  been  the  shame  of  all 
his  youthful  years  that  his  father  should  stoop  to 
subterfuge,  to  falsehood,  to  everything  that  was  for- 
eign to  his  native  sense  of  honor  and  honesty,  for  a 
taste  of  that  which  his  abnormal  appetite  demanded. 

"  If  anyone  had  told  me  but  you,  Bronson,  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you,  but  I  had  to.  You 
can  see  that,  can't  you,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.  But  how  in  the  world  did  she  know  where 
the  diamonds  were?  " 

"  He  gave  her  his  key  one  day  when  I  was  there 
—  made  me  get  it  off  his  ring.  He  sent  her  for  your 
228 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

picture  —  the  one  that  your  mother  used  to  wear. 
I  thought  then  that  he  wasn't  quite  right  in  his 
head,  with  the  fever  and  all,  or  he  would  have  sent 
me.  But  a  woman  like  that  — " 

"Dr.  McKenzie  has  the  greatest  confidence  in 
her." 

"  I  know,  sir,  and  she's  probably  played  square 
with  him  —  but  she  ain't  playing  square  here." 

"  It  can't  go  on,  of  course.  I  shall  have  to  tell 
McKenzie." 

Bronson  protested  nervously.  "  If  she  puts  her 
word  against  mine,  who  but  you  will  believe  me? 
I'd  rather  you  saw  it  yourself,  Mr.  Derry,  and  left 
my  name  out  of  it." 

"  But  I  can't  sit  on  the  steps  and  watch." 

"  No,  sir,  but  you  can  come  in  unexpected  from 
the  outside  —  when  I  flash  on  the  third  floor  light 
for  you." 

Derry  slept  little  that  night.  Ahead  of  him 
stretched  twenty-four  hours  of  suspense  —  twenty- 
four  hours  in  which  he  would  have  to  think  of  this 
thing  which  was  hidden  in  the  big  house  in  which 
his  mother  had  reigned. 

In  the  weeks  since  he  had  met  Jean,  he  had  man- 
aged to  thrust  it  into  the  back  of  his  mind  —  he 
had,  indeed,  in  the  midst  of  his  happiness,  forgot- 
ten his  .bitterness,  his  sense  of  injustice  —  he  won- 
dered if  he  had  not  in  a  sense  forgotten  his  patri- 
otism. Life  had  seemed  so  good,  his  moments  with 
229 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Jean  so  transcendent  —  there  had  been  no  room  for 
anything  else. 

But  now  he  was  to  take  up  again  the  burden 
which  he  had  dropped.  He  was  to  consider  his 
problem  from  a  new  angle.  How  could  he  bring 
Jean  here?  How  could  he  let  her  clear  young  eyes 
rest  on  that  which  he  and  his  mother  had  seen? 
How  could  he  set,  as  it  were,  all  of  this  sordidness 
against  her  sweetness?  Money  could,  of  course,  do 
much.  But  his  promise  held  him  to  watchfulness, 
to  brooding  care,  to  residence  beneath  this  roof. 
His  bride  would  be  the  General's  daughter,  she 
would  live  in  the  General's  house,  she  would  live, 
too,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  General's  tragic 
fault. 

Yet  —  she  was  a  brave  little  thing.  IJe  com- 
forted himself  with  that.  And  she  loved  him.  He 
slept  at  last  with  a  desperate  prayer  on  his  lips  that 
some  new  vision  might  be  granted  him  on  the  mor- 
row. 

But  the  first  news  that  came  over  the  telephone 
was  of  Jean's  flitting.  "  Daddy  wants  me  to  go 
with  him  to  our  old  place  in  Maryland.  He  has 
some  business  which  takes  him  there,  and  we  shall 
be  gone  two  days." 

"  Two  days?  " 

"  Yes.     We  are  to  motor  up." 

"Can't  I  go  with  you?" 

"  I  think  —  Daddy  wants  me  to  himself.  You 
230 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

won't  mind,  Derry  —  some  day  you'll  have  me  all 
the  time." 

"  But  I  need  you  now,  dearest." 

"  Do  you  really,"  delightedly.  "  It  doesn't  seem 
as  if  you  could  — " 

"  If  you  knew  how  much." 

She  could  not  know.  He  hung  up  the  receiver. 
The  day  stretched  out  before  him,  blank. 

But  it  passed,  of  course.  And  Hilda,  having 
slept  her  allotted  number  of  hours,  was  up  in  time 
to  superintend  the  serving  of  the  General's  dinner. 
Later,  Derry  stopped  at  the  door  to  say  that  he  was 
going  to  the  theater  and  might  be  called  there. 
The  General,  propped  against  his  pillows  and 
clothed  in  a  gorgeous  mandarin  coat,  looked  wrin- 
kled and  old.  The  ruddiness  had  faded  from  his 
cheeks,  and  he  was  much  thinner. 

Hilda,  sitting  by  the  little  table,  showed  all  the 
contrast  of  youth  and  bloom.  Her  long  hands  lay 
flat  on  the  table.  Derry  had  a  fantastic  feeling,  as 
if  a  white  cat  watched  him  under  the  lamp. 

"Are  you  going  alone,  son?  "  the  General  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  don't  you  take  a  girl?  "  craftily. 

Derry  smiled. 

"  The  only  girl  I  should  care  to  take  is  out  of 
town." 

The  white  cat  purred.  "Lucky  girl  to  be  the 
only  one." 

231 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Derry's  manner  stiffened.  "  You  are  good  to 
think  so." 

After  Derry  had  gone,  Hilda  said,  "  You  see,  it  is 
Jean  McKenzie.  The  Doctor  said  that  he  and  Jean 
would  be  up  in  Maryland  for  a  day  or  two.  She 
has  a  good  time.  She  doesn't  know  what  it  means 
to  be  poor,  not  as  I  know  it.  She  doesn't  know 
what  it  means  to  go  without  tthe  pretty  things  that 
women  long  for.  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  General, 
but  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  I  used  to  stand  in 
front  of  shop  windows  and  wonder  if  other  girls 
really  wore  the  slippers  and  fans  and  parasols. 
And  when  I  went  to  Dr.  McKenzie' s,  and  saw  Jean 
in  her  silk  dressing  gowns,  and  her  pink  slippers 
and  her  lace  caps,  she  seemed  to  me  like  a  lady  in 
a  play.  I've  worn  my  uniforms  since  I  took  my 
nurse's  training,  and  before  that  I  wore  the  uni- 
form of  an  Orphans'  Home.  I  —  I  don't  know  why 
I  am  telling  you  all  this  —  only  it  doesn't  seem 
quite  fair,  does  it?" 

He  had  all  of  an  old  man's  sympathy  for  a  lovely 
woman  in  distress.  He  had  all  of  any  man's  desire 
to  play  Cophetua. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  You  get  yourself  a  pink 
parasol  and  a  fan  and  a  silk  dress.  I'd  like  to  see 
you  wear  them." 

She  shook  her  head.  "What  should  I  do  with 
things  like  that?  "  Her  voice  had  a  note  of  wist- 
fulness.  "  A  woman  in  my  position  must  be  careful." 
232 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

"  But  I  want  you  to  have  the  things,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  a  place  to  wear  them/'  sadly. 
"  No,  you  are  very  good  to  offer  them.  But  I 
mustn't." 

The  General  slept  after  that.  Hilda  read  under 
the  lamp  —  a  white  cat  watched  by  a  little  old  ter- 
rier on  the  stairs ! 

And  now  the  big  house  was  very  still.  There 
were  lights  in  the  halls  of  the  first  and  second 
floors.  Bronson  crouching  in  the  darkness  of  the 
third  landing  was  glad  of  the  company  of  the 
painted  lady  on  the  stairs.  He  knew  she  would 
approve  of  what  he  was  doing.  For  years  he  had 
served  her  in  such  matters  as  this,  saving  her  hus- 
band from  himself.  When  Derry  was  too  small, 
too  ignorant  of  evil,  too  innocent,  to  be  told  things, 
it  was  to  the  old  servant  that  she  had  come. 

He  remembered  a  certain  night.  She  was  young 
then  and  new  to  her  task.  She  and  the  General  had 
been  dining  at  one  of  the  Legations.  She  was  in 
pale  blue  and  very  appealing.  When  Bronson  had 
opened  the  door,  she  had  come  in  alone. 

"  Oh,  the  General,  the  General,  Bronson,"  she  had 
said.  "  We've  got  to  go  after  him." 

She  wras  shaking  with  the  dread  of  it,  and  Bron- 
son had  said,  "  Hadn't  you  better  wait,  ma'am?  " 

"  I  mustn't.  We  stopped  at  the  hotel  as  we  came 
by,  and  he  said  he  would  run  in  and  get  a  New  York 
233 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

paper.  And  we  waited,  and  we  waited,  and  he 
didn't  come  out  again,  and  at  last  I  sent  McChes- 
ney  in,  and  he  couldn't  find  him.  And  then  I  went 
and  sat  in  the  corridor,  thinking  he  might  pass 
through.  It  isn't  pleasant  to  sit  alone  in  the  corri- 
dor with  the  men  —  staring  at  you  —  at  night. 
And  then  I  asked  the  man  at  the  door  if  he  had 
seen  him,  and  he  said,  'yes,'  that  he  had  called  a 
cab,  and  then  I  came  home." 

They  had  gone  out  again  together,  with  Bronson, 
who  was  young  and  strong,  taking  the  place  of 
the  coachman,  McChesney,  because  Mrs.  Drake  did 
not  care  to  have  the  other  servants  see  her  hus- 
band at  times  like  these.  "  You  know  how  good  he 
is,"  had  been  her  timid  claim  on  him  from  the  first, 
"  and  you  know  how  hard  he  tries."  And  because 
Bronson  knew,  and  because  he  had  helped  her  like 
the  faithful  squire  that  he  was,  she  had  trusted  him 
more  and  more  with  this  important  but  secret  busi- 
ness. 

She  had  changed  her  dress  for  something  dark, 
and  she  had  worn  a  plain  dark  hat  and  coat.  She 
had  not  cried  a  tear  and  she  would  not  cry.  She 
had  been  very  brave  as  they  travelled  a  beaten  path, 
visiting  the  places  which  the  General  frequented, 
going  on  and  on  until  they  came  to  the  country,  and 
to  a  farm-house  where  they  found  him  turning 
night  into  day,  having  roused  the  amazed  inmates 
to  ask  for  breakfast. 

234 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

He  had  paid  them  well  for  it,  and  was  ready  to 
set  forth  again  with  the  dawn  when  his  wife  drove 
in. 

"  My  dear,"  he  had  said,  courteously,  as  his  little 
wife's  face  peered  out  at  him  from  the  carriage, 
"  you  shouldn't  have  come." 

Sobered  for  the  moment,  he  had  made  a  hand- 
some figure,  as  he  stood  with  uncovered  head,  his 
dark  hair  in  a  thick  curl  between  his  eyes.  The 
morning  was  warm  and  he  carried  his  overcoat  on 
his  arm.  His  patent  leather  shoes  and  the  broad- 
cloth of  his  evening  clothes  showed  the  dust  and 
soil  of  his  walk  through  the  fields.  He  had  evi- 
dently dismissed  his  cab  at  the  edge  of  the  city  and 
had  come  cross-country. 

His  wife  had  reached  out  her  little  hand  to  him. 
"  I  came  because  I  was  lonely.  The  house  seems  so 
big  when  you  are  —  away  — " 

It  had  wrung  Bronson's  heart  to  see  her  smiling. 
Yet  she  had  always  met  the  General  with  a  smile 
and  with  the  reminder  of  her  need  of  him.  There 
had  been  never  a  complaint,  never  a  rebuke  —  at 
these  moments.  When  he  was  himself,  she  strove 
with  him  against  his  devils.  But  to  strive  when  he 
was  not  himself,  would  be  to  send  him  away  from 
her. 

Her  hands  were  clasped  tightly,  and  her  voice 
shook  as  she  talked  on  the  way  back  to  the  husband 
who  seemed  so  unworthy  of  the  love  she  gave. 
235 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Yet  she  had  not  thought  him  unworthy.  "  If  I 
can  only  save  him,"  she  had  said  so  many  times. 
"  Oh,  Bronson,  I  mustn't  let  him  go  down  and 
down,  with  no  one  who  loves  him  to  hold  him  back." 

In  the  years  that  had  followed,  Bronson  had  seen 
her  grow  worn  and  weary,  but  never  hopeless.  He 
had  seen  her  hair  grow  gray,  he  had  seen  the  light 
go  out  of  her  face  so  that  she  no  longer  smiled  as 
she  had  smiled  in  the  picture. 

But  she  had  never  given  up  the  fight.  Not  even 
at  the  last  moment.  "  You  will  stay  with  him, 
Bronson,  and  help  Derry." 

And  now  this  other  woman  had  come  to  undo  all 
the  work  that  his  beloved  mistress  had  done.  And 
there  in  the  shadowed  room  she  was  weaving  her 
spells. 

Outside,  snug  against  the  deadly  cold  in  his  warm 
closed  car,  Derry  waited  alone  for  Bronson's  signal. 

There  was  movement  at  last  in  the  shadowed 
room.  The  General  spoke  from  the  bed.  Hilda 
answered  him,  and  rose.  She  arranged  a  little  tray 
with  two  glasses  and  a  plate  of  biscuits.  Then  she 
crossed  the  room  towards  the  bookcase. 

Bronson  reached  up  his  hand  and  touched  the 
button  which  controlled  the  lights  on  the  third 
floor.  He  saw  Hilda  raise  a  startled  head  as  the 
faint  click  reached  her.  She  listened  for  a  moment, 
and  he  withdrew  himself  stealthily  up  and  out  of 
sight.  If  she  came  into  the  hall  she  might  see  him 
236 


TEE  WHITE  GAT 

on  the  stairs.     He  had  done  what  he  could.     He 
would  leave  the  rest  to  Derry. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  the  General  asked. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  sound  —  but  there's  no  one 
up.  This  is  our  hour,  isn't  it?  " 

She  brought  the  bottle  out  from  behind  the 
books.  Then  she  came  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
bed. 

"  Will  you  drink  to  my  happiness,  General?  " 

She  was  very  handsome.  "  To  our  happiness," 
he  said,  eagerly,  and  unexpectedly,  as  he  took  the 
glass. 

Hilda,  pouring  out  more  wine  for  herself,  stood 
suddenly  transfixed.  Derry  spoke  from  the  thresh- 
old. "  Dr.  McKenzie  has  asked  you  repeatedly 
not  to  give  my  father  wine,  Miss  Merritt." 

He  was  breathing  quickly.  His  hat  was  in  his 
hand  and  he  wore  his  fur  coat.  "  Why  are  you  giv- 
ing it  to  him  against  the  Doctor's  orders?  " 

The  General  interposed.  "  Don't  take  that  tone 
with  Miss  Merritt,  Derry.  I  asked  her  to  get  it 
for  me,  and  she  obeyed  my  orders.  What's  the 
matter  with  that?  " 

"  Dr.  McKenzie  said,  explicitly,  that  you  were 
not  to  have  it." 

"  Dr.  McKenzie  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
may  tell  him  that  for  me.  I  am  not  his  patient 
any  longer." 

"  Father  — " 

237 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Certainly  not.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  take 
orders  from  McKenzie  —  or  from  you  ?  " 

"  But,  Miss  Merritt  is  his  nurse,  under  his  or- 
ders." 

"  She  is  not  going  to  be  his  nurse  hereafter.  I 
have  other  plans  for  her." 

Derry  stood  staring,  uncomprehending.  "  Other 
plans  — " 

"  I  have  asked  her  to  be  my  wife." 

Oh,  lovely  painted  lady  on  the  stairs,  has  it  come 
to  this?  Have  your  prayers  availed  no  more  than 
this?  Have  the  years  in  which  you  sacrificed  your- 
self, in  which  you  sacrificed  your  son,  counted  no 
more  than  this? 

Derry  felt  faint  and  sick.  "  You  can't  mean  it, 
Dad." 

"  I  do  mean  it.  I  —  am  a  lonely  man,  Derry.  A 
disappointed  man.  My  wife  is  dead.  My  son  is  a 
slacker  — " 

It  was  only  the  maudlin  drivel  of  a  man  not 
responsible  for  what  he  was  saying.  But  Derry 
had  had  enough.  He  took  a  step  forward  and 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  I  wouldn't  go 
any  farther  if  I  were  you,  Dad.  I've  not  been  a 
slacker.  I  have  never  been  a  slacker.  I  am  not  a 
coward.  I  have  never  been  a  coward.  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  right  now  why  I  am  not  in  France.  Do 
you  think  I  should  have  stayed  out  of  it  for  a  mo- 
ment if  it  hadn't  been  for  you?  Has  it  ever 
238 


TEE  WHITE  CAT 

crossed  your  mind  that  if  you  had  been  half  a  man 
I  might  have  acted  like  a  whole  one?  Have  you 
ever  looked  back  at  the  years  and  seen  me  going 
out  into  the  night  to  follow  you  and  bring  you 
back?  I  am  not  whining.  I  loved  you,  and  I 
wanted  to  do  it ;  but  it  wasn't  easy.  And  I  should 
still  be  doing  it ;  but  of  late  you've  said  things  that 
I  can't  forgive.  I've  stood  by  you  because  I  gave 
a  promise  to  my  mother  —  that  I  wouldn't  leave 
you.  And  I've  stayed.  But  now  I  shan't  try  any 
more.  I  am  going  to  France.  I  am  going  to  fight. 
I  am  not  your  son,  sir.  I  am  the  son  of  my  mother/' 

Then  the  General  said  what  he  would  never  have 
said  if  he  had  been  himself. 

"  If  you  are  not  my  son,  then,  by  God,  you  shan't 
have  any  of  my  money." 

"  I  don't  want  it.  Do  you  think  that  I  do?  I 
shall  get  out  of  here  tonight,  and  I  shan't  come  back. 
There  is  only  one  thing  that  I  want  besides  my  own 
personal  traps  —  and  that  is  my  mother's  picture 
on  the  stairs." 

The  General  was  drawing  labored  breaths. 
"  Your  mother's  picture  —  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  no  place  here.  Do  you  think  for  an 
instant  that  you  can  meet  her  eyes?  " 

There  was  a  look  of  fright  on  the  drawn  old  face. 
"  I  am  not  well,  give  me  the  wine." 

Derry  reached  for  the  bottle.  "  He  shall  not 
have  it." 

239 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Hilda  came  up  to  Mm  swiftly.  "  Can't  you  see? 
He  must.  Look  at  him." 

Derry  looked  and  surrendered.  Then  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

All  that  night,  Derry,  trying  to  pack,  with  Bron- 
son  in  agitated  attendance,  was  conscious  of  the 
sinister  presence  of  Hilda  in  the  house.  There  was 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  her  low  orders  in 
the  halls,  her  careful  voice  at  the  telephone,  and 
once  the  sound  of  her  padded  steps  as  she  passed 
Derry's  room  on  her  way  to  her  own.  The  new 
doctor  came  and  went.  Hilda  sent,  at  Derry's  re- 
quest, a  bulletin  of  the  patient's  condition.  The 
General  must  be  kept  from  excitement;  otherwise 
there  was  not  reason  for  alarm. 

But  Derry  was  conscious,  as  the  night  wore  on, 
and  Bronson  left  him,  and  he  sat  alone,  of  more 
than  the  physical  evidences  of  Hilda's  presence ;  he 
was  aware  of  the  spiritual  effect  of  her  sojourn 
among  them.  She  had  stolen  from  them  all  some- 
thing that  was  fine  and  beautiful.  From  Derry  his 
faith  in  his  father.  From  the  General  his  con- 
stancy to  his  lovely  wife.  The  structure  of  ideals 
which  Derry's  mother  had  so  carefully  reared  for 
the  old  house  had  been  wrecked  by  one  who  had 
first  climbed  the  stairs  in  the  garb  of  a  sister  of 
mercy. 

He  saw  his  father's  future.  Hilda,  cold  as  ice, 
240 


THE  WHITE  CAT 

setting  his  authority  aside.  He  saw  the  big  house, 
the  painted  lady  smiling  no  more  on  the  stairs. 
Hilda's  strange  friends  filling  the  rooms,  the  Gen- 
eral's men  friends  looking  at  them  askance,  his 
mother's  friends  staying  away. 

Poor  old  Dad,  poor  old  Dad.  All  personal  feel- 
ing w^as  swept  away  in  the  thought  of  what  might 
come  to  his  father.  Yet  none  the  less  his  own  path 
lay  straight  and  clear  before  him.  The  time  had 
come  for  him  to  go. 


241 


BOOK  TWO 
Through  the  Crack 

"  I  will  go  to  the  wars !  I  will  go  to  the  wars ! "  the  Tin 
Soldier  cried  as  loud  as  he  could,  and  he  threw  himself  from 
the  shelf.  .  .  . 

What  could  have  become  of  him?  The  old  man  looked  and 
the  little  boy  looked.  "I  shall  find  him,"  the  old  man  said, 
but  he  did  not  find  him.  For  the  Tin  Soldier  had  fallen  through 
a  crack  in  the  floor,  and  there  he  lay  as  in  an  open  grave. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

THE  Doctor's  house  in  Maryland  was  near  Wood- 
stock, and  from  the  rise  of  the  hill  where  it  stood 
one  could  see  the  buildings  of  the  old  Jesuit  Col- 
lege, and  the  river  which  came  so  soon  to  the  Bay. 

In  his  boyhood  the  priests  had  been  great  friends 
of  Bruce  McKenzie.  While  of  a  different  faith,  he 
had  listened  eagerly  to  the  things  they  had  to  tell 
him,  these  wise  men,  the  pioneers  of  missionary 
work  in  many  lands,  teachers  and  scholars.  His 
imagination  had  been  fired  by  their  tales  of  devo- 
tion, and  he  had  many  arguments  with  his  Cove- 
nanter grandfather,  to  whom  the  gold  cross  on  the 
top  of  the  college  had  been  the  sign  and  symbol  of 
papacy. 

"  But,  grandfather,  the  things  we  believe  aren't 
so  very  different,  and  I  like  to  pray  in  their  chapel." 

"  Why  not  pray  in  your  own  kirk?  " 

"  It's  so  bare." 

"  There's  nothing  to  distract  your  thoughts." 

"  And  I  like  the  singing,  and  the  lights  and  the 
candles  — " 

"We  need  no  candles;  we  have  light  enough  in 
our  souls." 

245 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

But  Bruce  had  loved  the  smell  of  the  incense,  and 
the  purple  and  red  of  the  robes,  and,  seeing  it  all 
through  the  golden  haze  of  the  lights,  his  sense  of 
beauty  had  been  satisfied,  as  it  was  not  satisfied  in 
his  own  plain  house  of  worship. 

Yet  it  had  been  characteristic  of  the  boy  as  it 
was  of  the  man  that  neither  kirk  nor  chapel  held 
him,  and  he  had  gone  through  life  liking  each  a 
little,  but  neither  overmuch. 

Something  of  this  he  tried  to  express  to  Jean  as, 
arriving  at  Woodstock  in  the  early  afternoon,  they 
passed  the  College.  "  I  might  have  been  a  priest," 
he  said,  "  if  I  hadn't  been  too  much  of  a  Puritan  or 
a  Pagan.  I  am  not  sure  which  held  me  back  — " 

Jean  shuddered.  "  How  can  people  shut  them- 
selves away  from  the  world?  " 

"  They  have  a  world  of  their  own,  my  dear,"  said 
the  Doctor,  thoughtfully,  "  and  I'm  not  sure  that 
it  isn't  as  interesting  as  our  own." 

"  But  there  isn't  love  in  it,"  said  Jean. 

"  There's  love  that  carries  them  above  self  —  and 
that's  something." 

"  It  is  something,  but  it  isn't  much,"  said  his 
small  daughter,  obstinately.  "  I  don't  want  to  love 
the  world,  Daddy.  I  want  to  love  Derry  — " 

The  Doctor  groaned.  "  I  thought  I  had  escaped 
him,  for  a  day." 

"  You  will  never  escape  him,"  was  the  merciless 
rejoinder,  but  she  kissed  him  to  make  up  for  it. 
246 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

In  spite  of  the  fact  of  her  separation  for  the  mo- 
ment from  her  lover,  she  had  enjoyed  the  ride. 
There  had  been  much  wind,  and  a  little  snow  on 
the  way.  But  now  the  air  was  clear,  with  a  sort 
of  silver  clearness  —  the  frozen  river  was  gray- 
green  between  its  banks,  there  were  blue  shadows" 
flung  by  the  bare  trees.  As  they  passed  the  Col- 
lege, a  few  black-frocked  fathers  and  scholastics 
paced  the  gardens. 

Jean  wished  that  Derry  were  there  to  see  it  all. 
It  wras  to  her  a  place  of  many  memories.  Most  of 
the  summers  of  her  little  girlhood  had  been  spent 
there,  with  now  and  then  a  Christmas  holiday. 

The  house  did  not  boast  a  heating  plant,  but 
there  were  roaring  open  fires  in  all  the  rooms,  ex- 
cept in  the  Connollys'  sitting  room,  which  was 
wrarmed  by  a  great  black  stove. 

The  Connollys  were  the  caretakers.  They  occu- 
pied the  left  wing  of  the  house,  and  worked  the 
farm.  They  were  both  good  Catholics,  and  Mrs. 
Connolly  looked  after  the  little  church  at  the  cross- 
roads corner,  where  the  good  priests  came  from  the 
College  every  week  to  say  Mass.  She  was  a  faith- 
ful, hard-working,  pious  soul,  with  her  mind  just 
now  very  much  on  her  two  sons  who  had  enlisted 
at  the  first  call  for  men,  and  were  now  in  France. 

She  talked  much  about  them  to  Jean,  who  came 
into  the  kitchen  to  watch  her  get  supper.  The  deep, 
dark,  low-ceiled  room  was  lighted  by  an  oil  lamp. 
247 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  rocking  chair  in  which  Jean  sat  had  a  turkey- 
red  cushion,  and  there  was  another  turkey-red 
cushion  in  the  rocking  chair  on  the  other  side  of 
the  cookstove.  They  ate  their  meals  on  the  table 
under  the  lamp.  It  was  only  when  guests  were  in 
the  house  that  the  dining  room  was  opened. 

The  Doctor  and  Jim  Connolly  were  at  the  barn, 
where  were  kept  two  fat  mules,  a  fat  little  horse,  a 
fat  little  cow,  and  a  pair  of  fat  pigs.  There  were 
also  a  fat  house  dog,  and  a  brace  of  plump  pussies, 
for  the  Connollys  were  a  plump  and  comfortable 
couple  who  wanted  everything  about  them  comfort- 
able, and  who  had  had  little  to  worry  them  until 
the  coming  of  the  war. 

Yet  even  the  war  could  not  shake  Mrs.  Con- 
nolly's faith  in  the  Tightness  of  things. 

"  I  was  glad  to  have  our  country  get  into  it,  and 
to  have  my  sons  go.  If  they  had  stayed  at  home, 
I  shouldn't  have  felt  satisfied." 

"  Didn't  it  nearly  break  your  heart?  " 

Mrs.  Connolly,  beating  eggs  for  an  omelette, 
shook  her  head.  "  Women's  hearts  don't  break  over 
brave  men,  Miss  Jean.  It  is  the  sons  who  are  weak 
and  wayward  who  break  their  mothers'  hearts  — 
not  the  ones  that  go  to  war." 

She  poured  the  omelette  into  a  pan.     "  When  I 

have  a  bad  time  missing  them,  I  remember  how  the 

Mother  of  God  gave  her  blessed  Son  to  the  world. 

And  He  set  the  example,  to  give  ourselves  to  save 

248 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

others.  No,  I  don't  want  my  boys  back  until  the 
war  is  over." 

Jean  said  nothing.  She  rocked  back  and  forth 
and  thought  about  what  Mary  Connolly  had  said. 
One  of  the  fat  pussies  jumped  on  her  lap  and 
purred.  It  was  all  very  peaceful,  all  as  it  had  been 
since  some  other  cook  made  omelettes  for  the  little 
aristocrat  of  an  Irish  grandmother  who  would  not 
under  any  circumstances  have  sat  in  the  kitchen  on 
terms  of  familiarity  with  a  dependent.  The  world 
had  progressed  much  in  democracy  since  those  days. 
Those  who  had  fought  in  this  part  of  the  country 
for  liberty  and  equality  had  not  really  known  it. 
They  had  seen  the  Vision,  but  it  was  to  be  given  to 
their  descendants  to  realize  it. 

Jean  rocked  and  rocked.  "  I  hate  war,"  she  said, 
suddenly.  "  I  didn't  until  Daddy  said  he  was  go- 
ing, and  then  it  seemed  to  come  —  so  near  —  all  the 
time  I  am  trying  to  push  the  thought  of  it  away. 
I  wouldn't  tell  him,  of  course.  But  I  don't  want 
him  to  go." 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  tell  him.  We  women  may  be 
scared  to  death,  but  it  ain't  the  time  to  tell  our  men 
that  we  are  scared." 

"  Are  you  scared  to  death,  Mrs.  Connolly?  " 

The  steady  eyes  met  hers.     "  Sometimes,  in  the 

night,  when  I  think  of  the  wet  and  cold,  and  the 

wounded  groaning  under  the  stars.     But  when  the 

morning  comes,  I  cook  the  breakfast  and  get  Jim 

249 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

off,  and  he  don't  know  but  that  I  am  as  cheerful  as 
one  of  our  old  hens,  and  then  I  go  over  to  the  church, 
and  tell  it  all  to  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  I  am  ready 
to  write  to  my  boys  of  how  proud  I  am,  and  how 
fine  they  are  —  and  of  every  little  tiny  thing  that 
has  happened  on  the  farm." 

Thus  the  heroic  Mary  Connolly  —  type  of  a  mil- 
lion of  her  kind  in  America  —  of  more  than  a  mil- 
lion of  her  kind  throughout  the  world  —  hiding  her 
fears  deep  in  her  heart  that  her  men  might  go 
cheered  to  battle. 

The  omelette  was  finished,  and  the  Doctor  and 
Jim  Connolly  had  come  in.  "  The  stars  are  out," 
the  Doctor  said.  "  After  supper  we'll  walk  a  bit." 

Jean  was  never  to  forget  that  walk  with  her 
father.  It  was  her  last  long  walk  with  him  before 
he  went  to  France,  her  last  intimate  talk.  It  was 
very  cold,  and  he  took  her  arm,  the  snow  crunched 
under  their  feet. 

Faintly  the  chimes  of  the  old  College  came  up  to 
them.  "  Nine  o'clock,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Think 
of  all  the  years  I've  heard  the  chimes.  I  have  lived 
over  half  a  century  —  and  my  father  before  me 
heard  them  —  and  they  rang  in  my  grandfather's 
time.  Perhaps  they  will  ring  in  the  ears  of  my 
grandchildren,  Jean." 

They  had  stopped  to  listen,  but  now  they  went 
on.  "  Do  you  know  what  they  used  to  say  to  me 
when  I  was  a  little  boy? 

250 


IF    ANYTHING    SHOULD    HAPPEN,    YOU    WILL    REMEMBER  I 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

'  The  Lord  watch 
Between  thee  and  —  me  — '  " 

"  My  mother  and  I  used  to  repeat  it  together  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  when  I  brought  your  mother  here 
for  our  honeymoon  —  that  first  night  we,  too,  stood 
and  listened  to  the  chimes  —  and  I  told  her  what 
they  said. 

"  Men  drift  away  from  these  things,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  something  of  an  effort.  "  I  have 
drifted  too  far.  But,  Jean,  will  you  always  remem- 
ber this,  that  when  I  am  at  my  best,  I  come  back  to 
the  things  my  mother  taught  her  boy?  If  anything 
should  happen,  you  will  remember?  " 

She  clung  to  his  arm.  She  had  no  words. 
Never  again  was  she  to  hear  the  chimes  without 
that  poignant  memory  of  her  father  begging  her  to 
remember  the  best  — . 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  out  of  a  long 
silence,  "  of  you  and  Derry.  I  —  I  want  you  to 
marry  him,  dear,  before  I  go." 

"  Before  you  go  —  Daddy  — " 

"  Yes.  Emily  says  I  have  no  right  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  happiness.  And  I  have  no  right. 
And  some  day,  perhaps,  oh,  my  little  Jean,  my 
grandchildren  may  hear  the  chimes  — " 

White  and  still,  she  stood  with  her  face  upturned 
to  the  stars.  "  Life  is  so  wronderful,  Daddy." 

And  this  time  she  said  it  out  of  a  woman's  knowl- 
eige  of  what  life  was  to  mean. 
251 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

They  went  in,  to  find  that  the  Connollys  had  re- 
tired. Jean  slept  in  a  great  feather-bed.  And  all 
the  night  the  chimes  in  the  College  tower  struck  the 
hours  — 

In  the  morning,  Jean  went  over  to  the  church 
with  Mrs.  Connolly.  It  was  Saturday,  and  things 
must  be  made  ready  for  the  services  the  next  day. 
Jean  had  been  taught  as  a  child  to  kneel  reverently 
while  Mrs.  Connolly  prayed.  To  sit  quietly  in  a 
pew  while  her  good  friend  did  the  little  offices  of 
the  altar. 

Jean  had  always  loved  to  sit  there,  to  wonder 
about  the  rows  of  candles  and  the  crucifix,  to  won- 
der about  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  St.  Agnes  with 
the  lamb,  and  St.  Anthony  who  found  things  when 
you  lost  them,  and  St.  Francis  in  the  brown  frock 
with  the  rope  about  his  waist,  and  why  Mrs.  Con- 
nolly never  touched  any  of  the  sacred  vessels  with 
bare  hands. 

But  most  of  all  she  had  wondered  about  that  be- 
nignant figure  in  the  pale  blue  garments  who  stood 
in  a  niche,  with  a  light  burning  at  her  feet,  and 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms. 

Mary  —  / 

Faintly  as  she  gazed  upon  it  on  this  winter 
morning,  Jean  began  to  perceive  the  meaning  of 
that  figure.  Of  late  many  women  had  said  to  her, 
"Was  my  son  born  for  this,  to  be  torn  from  my 
arms  —  to  be  butchered?  " 
252 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

Well,  Mary's  son  had  been  torn  from  her  arms  — 
butchered  —  her  little  son  who  had  lain  in  a  manger 
and  whom  she  had  loved  as  much  as  any  less-wor- 
shipped mother, —  and  he  had  told  the  world  what 
he  thought  of  sin  and  injustice  and  cruelty,  and  the 
world  had  hated  him  because  he  had  set  himself 
against  these  things  —  and  they  had  killed  him, 
and  from  his  death  had  come  the  regeneration  of 
mankind. 

And  now,  other  men,  following  him,  were  setting 
themselves  against  injustice  and  cruelty,  and  they 
were  being  killed  for  it.  But  perhaps  their  sacri- 
fices, too,  would  be  for  the  salvation  of  the 
world.  Oh,  if  only  it  might  be  for  the  world's  sal- 
vation ! 

She  walked  quite  soberly  beside  Mrs.  Connolly 
back  to  the  house.  She  took  her  knitting  to  the 
kitchen.  Mrs.  Connolly  was  knitting  socks.  "I 
don't  mind  the  fighting  as  much  as  I  do  the  chance 
of  their  taking  cold.  And  I'm  afraid  they  won't 
have  the  sense  to  change  their  socks  when  they  are 
wet.  I  have  sent  them  pairs  and  pairs  —  but  they'll 
never  know  enough  to  change  — 

"  It  is  funny  how  a  mother  worries  about  a  thing 
like  that,"  she  continued.  "  I  suppose  it  is  because 
you've  always  worried  about  their  taking  cold,  and 
you've  never  had  to  worry  much  about  their  being 
killed.  I  always  used  to  put  them  to  bed  writh  hot 
drinks  and  hot  baths,  and  a  lot  of  blankets,  and  I 
253 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

keep  thinking  that  there  won't  be  anybody  to  put 
them  to  bed." 

Jean  knitted  a  long  row,  and  then  she  spoke. 
"Mrs.  Connolly,  I'm  going  to  be  married,  before 
Daddy  leaves  for  France." 

"  I  am  happy  to  hear  that,  my  dear." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  until  last  night  —  Ddddy  wasn't 
willing.  I  —  I  feel  as  if  it  couldn't  be  really  true  — 
that  I  am  going  to  be  married,  Mrs.  Connolly." 

There  was  a  tremble  of  her  lip  and  clasping  of 
her  little  hands. 

Mary  Connolly  laid  down  her  work.  "  I  guess 
you  miss  your  mother,  blessed  lamb.  I  remember 
when  she  was  married.  I  was  young,  too,  but  I 
felt  a  lot  older  with  my  two  babies,  and  Jim  and  I 
were  so  glad  the  Doctor  had  found  a  wife.  He 
needed  one,  if  ever  a  man  did  —  for  he  liked  his  gay 
good  time." 

"  Daddy?  "  said  Jean,  incredulously.  It  is  hard 
for  youth  to  visualize  the  adolescence  of  its  elders. 
Dr.  McKenzie's  daughter  beheld  in  him  none  of  the 
elements  of  a  Lothario.  He  was  beyond  the  pale 
of  romance !  He  was  fifty,  which  settled  at  once  all 
matters  of  sentiment ! 

"  Indeed,  he  was  gay,  my  dear,  and  he  had  broken 

half  the  hearts  in  the  county,  and  then  your  mother 

came  for  a  visit.     She  didn't  look  in  the  least  like 

you,  except  that  she  was  small  and  slender.     Her 

254 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

hair  was  dark  and  her  eyes.  You  have  your 
father's  eyes  and  hair. 

"  But  she  was  so  pretty  and  so  loving  —  and  you 
never  saw  such  a  honeymoon.  They  were  married 
in  the  spring,  and  the  orchards  were  in  bloom,  and 
your  father  filled  her  room  with  apple  blossoms, 
and  the  first  day  when  Jim  drove  them  up  from  the 
station,  your  father  carried  her  in  his  arms  over 
the  threshold  and  up  into  that  room,  and  when  she 
came  down,  she  said,  '  Mary  Connolly,  isn't  life  — 
wonderful?'" 

"  Did  she  say  that,  Mrs.  Connolly,  really  ? 
Daddy  always  teases  me  when  I  go  into  raptures. 
He  says  that  I  think  everything  is  wonderful  from 
a  sunset  to  a  chocolate  soda." 

"  Well,  she  did,  too.  Her  husband  was  the  most 
wonderful  man,  and  her  baby  was  the  most  wonder- 
ful baby  —  and  her  house  was  the  most  wonderful 
house.  You  make  me  think  of  her  in  every  way. 
But  you  won't  have  apple  blossoms  for  your  honey- 
moon, my  dear." 

"  No.  But,  oh,  Mrs.  Connolly  —  it  won't  make 
any  real  difference." 

"  Not  a  bit.  And  if  you'll  come  up  here,  Jim 
and  I  will  promise  not  to  be  in  the  way.  Your 
mother  said  we  were  never  in  the  way.  And  I'll 
serve  your  meals  in  front  of  the  sitting-room  fire. 
They  used  to  have  theirs  out  of  doors.  But  you'll 
255 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

be  just  as  much  alone,  with  me  and  Jim  eating  in 
the  kitchen." 

It  was  very  easy  after  that  to  tell  Mrs.  Connolly 
all  about  it.  About  Derry,  and  how  he  had  fallen 
in  love  with  her  when  he  had  thought  she  was  just 
the  girl  in  the  Toy  Shop.  But  there  were  things 
which  she  did  not  tell,  of  the  shabby  old  gentleman 
and  of  the  shadow  which  had  darkened  Derry's  life. 

Then  when  she  had  finished,  Mary  Connolly  asked 
the  thing  which  everybody  asked  — "  Why  isn't  he 
fighting?" 

Jean  flushed.  "  He  —  he  made  a  promise  to  his 
mother." 

"I'd  never  make  my  boys  promise  a  thing  like 
that.  And  if  I  did,  I'd  hope  they'd  break  it." 

"  Break  it?  "  tensely. 

"  Of  course.  Their  honor's  bigger  than  anything 
I  could  ever  ask  them.  And  they  know  it." 

"  Then  you  think  that  Derry  ought  to  break  his 
promise?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,  my  dear." 

"But—.  Oh,  Mrs.  Connolly,  I  don't  know 
whether  I  want  him  to  break  it." 

"Why  not?" 

With  her  face  hidden.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
I  could  let  him  —  go." 

"  You'd  let  him  go.  Never  fear.  When  the  mo- 
ment came,  the  good  Lord  would  give  you 
strength—" 

256 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

There  were  steps  outside.  Jean  leaned  over  and 
kissed  Mary  Connolly  on  the  cheek.  "You  are 
such  a  darling  —  I  don't  wonder  that  my  mother 
loved  you." 

"  Well,  you'll  always  be  more  than  just  yourself 
to  me,"  said  Mary.  "  You'll  always  be  your 
mother's  baby.  And  after  I  get  lunch  for  you  and 
the  men  I  am  going  back  to  the  church  and  ask  the 
blessed  Virgin  to  intercede  for  your  happiness." 

So  it  was  while  Mary  was  at  church,  and  the  two 
men  had  gone  to  town  upon  some  legal  matter,  that 
Jean,  left  alone,  wandered  through  the  house,  and 
always  before  her  flitted  the  happy  ghost  of  the  girl 
who  had  come  there  to  spend  her  honeymoon.  In 
the  great  south  chamber  was  a  picture  of  her  mother, 
and  one  of  her  father  as  they  looked  at  the  time  of 
their  marriage.  Her  mother  was  in  organdie  with 
great  balloon  sleeves,  and  her  hair  in  a  Psyche  knot. 
She  was  a  slender  little  thing,  and  the  young  doc- 
tor's picture  was  a  great  contrast  in  its  blondness 
and  bigness.  Daddy  had  worn  a  beard  then, 
pointed,  as  was  the  way  with  doctors  of  his  day,  and 
he  looked  very  different,  except  for  the  eyes  which 
had  the  same  teasing  twinkle. 

The  window  of  this  room  looked  out  over  the  or- 
chard, the  orchard  which  had  been  bursting  with 
bloom  when  the  bride  came.  The  trees  now  were 
slim  little  skeletons,  with  the  faint  gold  of  the  west- 
ern sky  back  of  them,  and  there  was  much  snow. 
257 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Yet  so  vivid  was  Jean's  impression  of  what  had 
been,  that  she  would  have  sworn  her  nostrils  were 
assailed  by  a  delicate  fragrance,  that  her  eyes  be- 
held wind-blown  petals  of  white  and  pink. 

The  long  mirror  reflecting  her  showed  her  in  her 
straight  frock  of  dark  blue  serge,  with  the  white 
collars  and  cuffs.  The  same  mirror  had  reflected 
her  mother's  organdie.  It,  too,  had  been  blue,  Mary 
had  told  her,  but  blue  with  such  a  difference!  A 
faint  forget-me-not  shade,  with  a  satin  girdle,  and  a 
stiff  satin  collar ! 

Two  girls,  with  a  quarter  of  a  century  between 
them.  Yet  the  mother  had  laughed  and  loved,  and 
had  looked  forward  to  a  long  life  with  her  gay  big 
husband.  They  had  had  ten  years  of  it,  and  then 
there  had  been  just  her  ghost  to  haunt  the  old  rooms. 

Jean  shivered  a  little  as  she  went  downstairs. 
She  found  herself  a  little  afraid  of  the  lonely  dark- 
ening house.  She  wished  that  Mary  would  come. 

Curled  up  in  one  of  the  big  chairs,  she  waited. 
Half -asleep  and  half -awake,  she  was  aware  of  shad- 
ow-shapes which  came  and  went.  Her  Scotch  great- 
grandfather, the  little  Irish  great-grandmother ;  her 
copper-headed  grandfather,  his  English  wife,  her 
own  mother,  pale  and  dark-haired  and  of  Huguenot 
strain,  her  own  dear  father. 

From  each  of  these  something  had  been  given  her, 
some  fault,  some  virtue.  If  any  of  them  had  been 
brave,  there  must  have  been  handed  down  to  her 
258 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

some  bit  of  bravery  —  if  any  of  them  had  been 
cowards  — 

But  none  of  them  had  been  cowards. 

"  We  came  to  a  new  country,"  said  the  great- 
grandparents.  "  There  were  hardships,  but  we 
loved  and  lived  through  them  — " 

"  The  Civil  war  tore  our  hearts"  said  the  grand- 
parents. "Brother  hated  brother,  and  friend  hated 
friend,  but  we  loved  and  lived  through,  it  — " 

"  We  were  not  tested,"  said  her  own  parents. 
"  You  are  our  child  and  test  has  come  to  you.  If 
you  are  brave,  it  will  be  because  we  have  given  to 
you  that  which  came  first  to  us  — " 

Jean  sat  up,  wide-awake  — "  1  am  not  brave"  she 
said. 

She  stood,  after  that,  at  a  lower  window,  watch- 
ing. Far  down  the  road  a  big  black  motor  flew 
straight  as  a  crow  towards  the  hill  on  which  the 
Doctor's  house  stood.  It  stopped  at  the  gate.  A 
man  stepped  out.  Jean  gave  a  gasp,  then  flew  to 
meet  him. 

"  Oh,  Derry,  Derry  — " 

He  came  in  and  shut  the  door  behind  him,  took 
her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her,  and  kissed  her  again. 
"  I  love  you,"  he  said,  "  I  love  you.  I  couldn't  stay 
away  — " 

It  seemed  to  Jean  quite  the  most  wonderful  thing 
of  all  the  wonderful  things  that  had  happened,  that 
he  should  be  here  in  this  old  house  where  her  parents 
259 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

had  come  for  their  honeymoon  —  where  her  own 
honeymoon  was  so  soon  to  be  — . 

She  saved  that  news  for  him,  however.  He  had 
to  tell  her  first  of  how  he  had  taken  the  wrong  road 
after  he  had  left  Baltimore.  He  had  gone  without 
his  lunch  to  get  to  her  quickly.  No,  he  wasn't  hun- 
gry, and  he  was  glad  Mary  Connolly  was  out,  "  I've 
so  much  to  say  to  you." 

Then,  too,  she  delayed  the  telling  so  that  he  might 
see  the  farm  before  darkness  fell.  She  wrapped 
herself  in  a  hooded  red  cloak  in  which  he  thought 
her  more  than  ever  adorable. 

The  sun  rested  on  the  rim  of  the  world,  a  golden 
disk  under  a  wind-blown  sky.  It  was  very  cold,  but 
she  was  warm  in  her  red  cloak,  he  in  his  fur-lined 
coat  and  cap. 

She  told  him  about  her  father's  honeymoon,  hug- 
ging her  own  secret  close.  "  They  came  here,  Derry, 
and  it  was  in  May.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  place 
in  May,  with  all  the  appleblooms. 

"  It  seems  queer,  doesn't  it,  Derry,  to  think  of 
father  honeymooning.  He  always  seems  to  be  mak- 
ing fun  of  things,  and  one  should  be  serious  on  a 
honeymoon." 

She  flashed  a  smile  at  him  and  he  smiled  back. 
"  I  shall  be  very  serious  on  mine." 

"  Of  course.  Derry,  wouldn't  you  like  a  honey- 
moon here?" 

260 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

"  I  should  like  it  anywhere  —  with  you  — " 

"  Well,"  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  "  Daddy  says  we 
may  — " 

"We  may  what,  Jean- Joan?  " 

"  Get  married  — " 

"  Before  he  goes?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  leaned  forward  to  get  the  full  effect  of  his 
surprise,  to  watch  the  dawn  of  his  delight. 

But  something  else  dawned.  Embarrassment? 
Out  of  a  bewildering  silence  she  heard  him  say,  "  I 
am  not  sure,  dear,  that  it  will  be  best  for  us  to  marry 
before  he  goes." 

She  had  a  stunned  feeling  that,  quite  unaccount- 
ably, Derry  was  failing  her.  A  shamed  feeling  that 
she  had  offered  herself  and  had  been  rejected. 

Something  of  this  showed  in  her  face.  "  My  dear, 
my  dear,"  he  said,  "  let  us  go  in.  I  can  tell  you  bet- 
ter there." 

Once  more  in  the  warm  sitting  room  with  the  door 
shut  behind  them,  he  lifted  her  bodily  in  his  arms. 
"  Don't  you  know  I  want  it,"  he  whispered,  tensely. 
"  Tell  me  that  you  know  — " 

When  he  set  her  down,  his  own  face  showed  the 
stress  of  his  emotion.  "  You  are  always  to  remem- 
ber this,"  he  said,  "  that  no  matter  what  happens,  I 
am  yours,  yours  —  always,  till  the  end  of  time." 

Instinctively  she  felt  that  this  Derry  was  in  some 
261 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

way  different  from  the  Derry  she  had  left  the  day 
before.  There  was  a  hint  of  masterfulness,  a  touch 
of  decision. 

"  Will  you  remember?  "  he  repeated,  hands  tight 
on  her  shoulders. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  simply. 

He  bent  and  kissed  her.  "  Then  nothing  else  will 
matter."  He  placed  a  big  chair  for  her  in  front  of 
the  fire,  and  drew  another  up  in  front  of  it.  Bend- 
ing forward,  he  took  her  hands.  "  I  am  glad  I  found 
you  alone.  What  luck  it  was  to  find  you  alone !  " 

He  tried  then  to  tell  her  what  he  had  come  to  tell. 
Yet,  after  all  there  was  much  that  he  left  unsaid. 
How  could  he  speak  to  her  of  the  things  he  had  seen 
in  his  father's  shadowed  house?  How  fill  that  deli- 
cate mind  with  a  knowledge  of  that  which  seemed 
even  to  his  greater  sophistication  unspeakable? 

So  she  wondered  over  several  matters.  "  How 
can  he  want  to  marry  Hilda?  I  can't  imagine  any 
man  wanting  Hilda." 

"  She  is  handsome  in  a  big  fine  way." 

"  But  she  is  not  big  and  fine.  She  is  little  and 
mean,  but  I  could  never  make  Daddy  see  it." 

He  wocdered  if  McKenzie  would  see  it  now. 

Mary  Connolly,  coming  in  through  the  back  door 
to  her  warm  kitchen,  heard  voices.  Standing  in  the 
dark  hall  which  connected  the  left  wing  with  the 
house,  she  could  see  through  into  the  living  room 
where  Jean  sat  with  her  lover. 
262 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

There  was  much  dark  wood  and  the  worn  red 
velvet  —  low  bookshelves  lining  the  walls,  a  grand 
piano  on  a  cover  by  the  window.  In  the  dimness 
Jean's  copper  head  shone  like  the  halo  of  a  saint. 
Mary  decided  that  Derry  was  "  queer-looking,"  until 
gathering  courage,  she  went  in  and  was  warmed  by 
his  smile. 

"  He  hasn't  had  any  lunch,  Mary,"  Jean  told  her, 
"  and  he  wouldn't  let  me  get  any  for  him." 

"  I'll  have  something  in  three  whisks  of  a  lamb's 
tail,"  said  Mary  with  Elizabethan  picturesqueness, 
and  away  she  went  on  her  hospitable  mission. 

"  Marrying  just  now,"  said  Derry,  picking  up  the 
subject,  where  he  had  dropped  it,  when  Mary  came 
in,  "  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Did  you  think  that  I  was  marrying  you  for  your 
money?" 

"  No.  But  two  months'  pay  wouldn't  buy  a  gown 
like  this," —  he  lifted  a  fold  with  his  forefinger  — 
"  to  say  nothing  of  your  little  shoes."  He  dropped 
his  light  tone.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  can't  you  see?  " 

"  No.  I  can't  see.  Daddy  would  let  us  have  this 
house,  and  I  have  a  little  money  of  my  own  from  my 
mother,  and  —  and  the  Connollys  would  take  care 
of  everything,  and  we  should  see  the  spring  come, 
and  the  summer." 

He  rose  and  went  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire.  "  But  I  shan't  be  here  in  the  spring  and 
summer." 

2G3 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  clasped  her  hands  nervously.  "  Derry,  I 
don't  want  you  to  go." 

"  You  don't  mean  that." 

"  I  do.  I  do.  At  least  not  yet.  We  can  be  mar- 
ried —  and  have  just  a  little,  little  month  or  two  — 
and  then  I'll  let  you  go  —  truly." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I've  stayed  out  of  it  long 
enough.  You  wouldn't  want  me  to  stay  out  of  it 
any  longer,  Jean-Joan." 

"  Yes,  I  should.  Other  men  can  go,  but  I  want  to 
keep  you  —  it's  bad  enough  to  give  —  Daddy  — .  I 
haven't  anybody.  Mary  Connolly  has  her  husband, 
but  I  haven't  anybody — "  her  voice  broke  —  and 
broke  again  — . 

He  came  over  and  knelt  beside  her.  "  Let  me 
tell  you  something,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  remember 
the  night  of  the  Witherspoon  dinner?  Well,  that 
night  you  cut  me  dead  because  you  thought  I  was 
a  coward  —  and  I  thanked  God  for  the  women  who 
hated  cowards." 

"  But  you  weren't  a  coward." 

"  I  know,  and  so  I  could  stand  it  —  could  stand 
your  scorn  and  the  scorn  of  the  world.  But  what 
if  I  stayed  out  of  it  now,  Jean? 

"What  if  I  stayed  out  of  it  now?  You  and  I 
could  have  our  little  moment  of  happiness,  while 
other  men  fought  that  we  might  have  it.  We  should 
be  living  in  Paradise,  while  other  men  were  in  Hell. 
I  can't  see  it,  dearest.  All  these  months  I  have  been 
264 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

bound.  But  now,  my  dear,  my  dear,  do  you  love 
me  enough  not  to  keep  me,  but  to  let  me  go?  " 

There  was  a  beating  pause.  She  lifted  wet  eyes. 
"  Oh,  Derry,  darling,  I  love  you  enough  —  I  love 
you  — " 

Thus,  in  a  moment,  little  Jean  McKenzie  un- 
latched the  gate  which  had  shut  her  into  the  safe 
and  sunshiny  garden  of  pampered  girlhood  and 
came  out  upon  the  broad  highway  of  life,  where 
men  and  women  suffer  for  the  sake  of  those  who 
travel  with  them,  sharing  burdens  and  gaining 
strength  as  they  go. 

Dimly,  perhaps,  she  perceived  what  she  had  done, 
but  it  was  not  given  to  her  to  know  the  things  she 
would  encounter  or  the  people  she  would  meet.  All 
the  world  was  to  adventure  with  her,  throughout 
the  years,  the  poor  distracted  world,  dealing  death 
and  destruction,  yet  dreaming  ever  of  still  waters 
and  green  pastures. 


265 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HILDA  SHAKES  A  TEEE 

WHEN  Dr.  McKenzie  and  Jim  Connolly  arrived, 
Derry  said  apologetically  as  he  shook  hands  with 
the  Doctor,  "  You  see,  you  can't  get  rid  of  me  —  but 
I  have  such  a  lot  of  things  to  talk  over  with  you." 

It  was  after  Jean  had  gone  to  bed,  however,  that 
they  had  their  talk,  and  before  that  Derry  and  Jean 
had  walked  in  the  moonlight  and  had  listened  to  the 
chimes. 

There  had,  perhaps,  never  been  such  a  moon.  It 
hung  in  a  sky  that  shimmered  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon. Against  this  shimmering  background  the  col- 
lege buildings  were  etched  in  black  —  there  was  a 
glint  of  gold  as  the  light  caught  the  icicles  and  made 
candles  of  them. 

In  the  months  to  come  that  same  moon  was  to 
sail  over  the  cantonment  where  Derry  slept  heavily 
after  hard  days.  It  was  to  sail  over  the  trenches 
of  France,  where,  perhaps,  he  slept  not  at  all,  or 
slept  uneasily  in  the  midst  of  mud  and  vermin. 
But  always  when  he  looked  up  at  it,  he  was  to  see 
the  Cross  on  the  top  of  the  College,  and  to  hear  the 
chimes. 

266 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

They  talked  that  night  of  the  things  that  were 
deep  in  their  hearts.  She  wanted  him  to  go  —  yes, 
she  wanted  him  to  go,  but  she  was  afraid. 

"  If  something  should  happen  to  you,  Derry." 

"  Sometimes  I  wonder,"  he  said,  in  his  grave, 
young  voice,  "  why  we  are  so  —  afraid.  I  think  we 
have  the  wrong  focus.  We  want  life,  even  if  it 
brings  unhappiness,  even  if  it  brings  suffering,  even 
if  it  brings  disgrace.  Anything  seems  better  than 
to  —  die  — " 

"  But  to  have  things  stop,  Derry."  She  shud- 
dered. "  When  there's  so  much  ahead." 

"  Perhaps  they  don't  stop,  dear." 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  that  — " 

"Why  not?  Do  you  remember  '  Sherwood/ 
where  Blondin  rides  through  the  forest  singing : 

"'Death,  what  is  death?'  he  cried, 
"  '  I  must  ride  on  — '  " 

His  face  was  lifted  to  the  golden  sky.  She  was 
never  to  forget  the  look  upon  it.  And  with  a  great 
ache  and  throb  of  passionate  renunciation,  she  told 
herself  that  it  was  for  this  that  the  men  of  her  gen- 
eration had  been  born,  that  they  might  fight  against 
the  powers  of  darkness  for  the  things  of  the  spirit. 

She  lay  awake  a  long  time  that  night,  thinking 

it  out.     Of  how  she  had  laughed  at  other  women, 

scolded,  said  awful  things  to  them  of  how  their 

cowardice  was  holding  the  world  back.     She  had 

267 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

thought  she  understood,  but  she  had  not  under- 
stood. It  was  giving  your  own  —  your  own,  which 
was  the  test.  Oh,  let  those  who  had  none  of  their 
own  to  give  keep  silent. 

With  her  breath  almost  stopping  she  thought  of 
those  glorious  young  souls  riding  on  and  on  through 
infinite  space,  the  banner  of  victory  floating  above 
them.  No  matter  what  might  come  to  the  world  of 
defeat  or  of  disaster,  these  souls  would  never  know 
it,  they  had  given  themselves  in  the  cause  of  hu- 
manity —  for  them  there  would  always  be  the  sound 
of  silver  trumpets,  the  clash  of  cymbals,  the  song  of 
triumph ! 

Downstairs,  Dr.  McKenzie  was  listening  with  a 
frowning  face  to  what  Derry  had  to  tell  him. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Hilda  was  giving  him 
—  wine?  " 

"  Yes.  Bronson  told  me.  But  he  didn't  want 
you  to  depend  upon  his  unsupported  testimony. 
So  we  fixed  up  a  scheme,  and  I  stayed  outside  until 
he  flashed  a  light  for  me;  and  then  I  went  in  and 
caught  her." 

"  It  is  incredible.  Why  should  she  do  such  a 
thing?  She  has  always  been  a  perfect  nurse  —  a 
perfect  nurse,  Drake."  He  rose  and  walked  the 
floor.  "  But  deliberately  to  disobey  my  orders  — 
what  could  have  been  her  object?  " 

Derry  hesitated. 

"  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst." 
268 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

Doctor  McKenzie  stopped  in  front  of  him.  "  The 
worst?  " 

"  Dad  is  going  to  marry  her." 

"What?" 

Derry  repeated  what  he  had  said. 

The  Doctor  dropped  into  a  chair.  "Who  told 
you?" 

«  Dad." 

"  And  she  admitted  that  it  was  —  true?  " 

"  Yes." 

Derry  gave  the  facts.  "  He  wasn't  himself,  of 
course,  but  that  doesn't  change  things  for  me." 

The  Doctor  in  the  practice  of  his  profession  had 
learned  to  conceal  his  emotions.  He  concealed  now 
what  he  was  feeling,  but  a  close  observer  might  have 
seen  in  the  fading  of  the  color  in  his  cheeks,  the 
beating  of  his  clenched  fist  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
something  of  that  which  was  stirring  within  him. 

"  And  this  has  been  going  on  ever  since  she  went 
there.  She  has  had  it  in  mind  to  wear  your 
mother's  jewels — "  Derry  had  graphically  de- 
scribed Bronson's  watch  on  the  stairs  — "  to  get 
your  father's  money.  I  knew  she  was  cold-blooded, 
but  I  had  always  thought  it  a  rather  admirable 
quality  in  a  woman  of  her  attractive  type." 

Before  his  eye  came  the  vision  of  Hilda's  at- 
tractiveness by  his  fireside,  at  his  table.  And  now 
she  would  sit  by  the  General's  fire,  at  his  table. 

"  She  didn't  say  a  word,"  Derry's  young  voice 
269 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

went  on,  "  when  he  told  me  that  I  was  no  longer  — 
his  son.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  felt  about  her.  I've 
never  felt  that  way  about  anyone  before.  I've  al- 
ways liked  people  —  but  it  was  as  if  some  evil  thing 
had  swooped  down  on  the  old  house." 

The  lad  saw  straight!  That  was  the  thought 
which  suddenly  illumined  Dr.  McKenzie's  troubled 
mind.  Hilda  was  not  beautiful.  No  beauty  of  body 
could  offset  the  ugliness  of  her  distorted  soul. 

"  And  so  I  am  poor,"  Derry  was  saying,  heavily, 
"  and  I  must  wait  to  marry  Jean." 

The  red  surged  up  in  the  Doctor's  face.  He 
jerked  himself  forward  in  his  chair.  "You  shall 
not  wait.  After  this  you  are  my  son,  if  you  are  not 
your  father's." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  Derry's  shoulder.  "  I've 
money  enough,  God  knows.  And  I  shan't  need  it. 
It  isn't  a  fortune,  but  it  is  enough  to  make  all  of  us 
comfortable  for  the  rest  of  our  days  —  and  I  want 
Jean  to  be  happy.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  let 
Hilda  Merritt  stand  between  my  child  and  happi- 
ness?" 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  sir,"  Derry's  voice  was 
husky  with  feeling,  "  but  — " 

"  There  are  no  *  buts.'  You  must  let  me  have  my 
own  way ;  I  shall  consider  it  a  patriotic  privilege  to 
support  one  soldier  and  his  little  wife." 

He  was  riding  above  the  situation  splendidly. 
He  even  had  visions  of  straightening  things  out. 
270 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

"  When  I  go  back  I  shall  tell  Hilda  what  I  think  of 
her.  I  shall  tell  her  that  it  is  preposterous  —  that 
her  professional  reputation  is  at  stake." 

"  What  will  she  care  for  her  professional  reputa- 
tion when  she  is  my  father's  wife?  " 

The  thought  of  Hilda  with  the  world,  in  a  sense, 
at  her  feet  was  maddening.  The  Doctor  paced  the 
floor  roaring  like  an  angry  lion.  "  It  may  not  do 
any  good,  but  I've  got  to  tell  her  what  I  think  of 
her." 

Derry  had  a  whimsical  sense  of  the  meeting  of 
the  white  cat  and  this  leonine  gentleman  —  would 
she  purr  or  scratch  ? 

"  The  sooner  you  and  Jean  are  married  the  bet- 
ter. If  Hilda  thinks  she  is  going  to  keep  you  and 
Jean  apart  she  is  mistaken." 

"  Oh  —  did  she  know  of  the  engagement?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  Doctor  confessed.  "  I  told  her  the 
other  day  when  she  came  to  fix  the  books." 

"  Then  that  accounts  for  it." 

"For  what?" 

"Dad's  attitude.  I  thought  it  was  queer  he 
should  fly  up  all  in  a  moment.  She  wanted  to  make 
trouble,  Doctor,  and  she  has  made  it." 

Long  after  Derry  had  gone  to  bed,  the  Doctor  sat 
there  pondering  on  Hilda's  treachery.  He  was  in 
some  ways  a  simple  man  —  swayed  by  the  impulse 
of  the  moment.  The  thought  of  deliberate  plotting 
was  abhorrent.  In  his  light  way  he  had  taken  her 
271 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

lightly.  He  had  laughed  at  her.  He  had  teased 
Jean,  he  had  teased  Emily,  calling  their  intuition 
jealousy.  Yet  they  had  known  better  than  he. 
And  why  should  not  women  know  women  better 
than  men  know  them?  Just  as  men  know  men  in  a 
way  that  women  could  never  know.  Sex  erected 
barriers  —  there  was  always  the  instinct  to  charm, 
to  don  one's  gayest  plumage;  even  Hilda's  frank- 
ness had  been  used  as  a  lure ;  she  knew  he  liked  it. 
Would  she  have  been  so  frank  if  she  had  not  felt 
its  stimulus  to  a  man  of  his  type?  And,  after  all, 
had  she  really  been  frank? 

Such  a  woman  was  like  a  poisonous  weed;  and 
he  had  thought  she  might  bloom  in  the  same  garden 
with  Jean  —  until  Emily  had  told  him. 

He  turned  to  the  thought  of  Emily  with  relief. 
Thank  God  he  could  leave  Jean  in  her  care.  If 
Derry  went,  there  would  still  be  Emily  with  her 
sweet  sanity,  and  her  wise  counsels. 

He  felt  very  old  as  he  went  upstairs.  He  stood 
for  a  long  time  in  front  of  his  wife's  picture.  How 
sweet  she  had  been  in  her  forget-me-not  gown  — 
how  little  and  tender !  Their  love  had  burned  in  a 
white  flame  —  there  would  never  be  anything  like 
that  for  him  again. 

He  waked  in  the  morning,  however,  ready  for  all 
that  was  before  him.    He  was  a  man  who  dwelt 
little  on  the  past.    There  was  always  the  day's 
work,  and  the  work  of  the  day  after. 
272 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

His  appetite  for  the  work  of  the  coining  day  was, 
it  must  be  confessed,  whetted  somewhat  by  the 
thought  of  what  he  would  say  to  Hilda. 

They  had  an  early  breakfast,  with  Jean  between 
her  father  and  Derry  and  eating  nothing  for  very 
happiness. 

There  was  the  start  in  the  opal  light  of  the  early 
morning,  with  a  faint  rose  sky  making  a  back- 
ground for  the  cross  on  the  College,  and  the  chimes 
saying  "  Seven  o'clock." 

Jim  and  Mary  Connolly  came  out  in  the  biting 
air  to  see  them  off.  Then  Mary  went  over  to  the 
church  to  pray  for  Jean  and  Derry.  But  first  of 
all  she  prayed  for  her  sons. 

The  Doctor,  arriving  at  his  office,  at  once  called 
up  Hilda. 

"  I  must  see  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  What  has  Derry  Drake  been  telling  you?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  has  told  me  any- 
thing?" 

"  By  your  voice.  And  you  needn't  think  that  you 
are  going  to  scold  me." 

"  I  shall  scold  you  for  disobeying  orders.  I 
thought  you  were  to  be  trusted,  Hilda." 

"  I  am  not  a  saint.  You  know  that.  And  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  want  you  to  come.  I  shall  send  you 
away  if  you  scold." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  left  him  fuming. 
Her  high-handed  indifference  to  his  authority  sent 
273 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

him  storming  to  Derry,  "  I've  lialf  a  mind  to  stay 
away." 

"  I  think  I  would.     It  won't  do  any  good  to  go  — " 

But  the  Doctor  went.  He  still  hoped,  optimis- 
tically, that  Hilda  might  be  induced  to  see  the  error 
of  her  ways. 

She  received  him  in  the  blue  room,  where  the 
General's  precious  porcelain  was  set  forth  in  cab- 
inets. It  was  a  choice  little  room  which  had  been 
used  by  Mrs.  Drake  for  the  reception  of  special 
guests.  Hilda  was  in  her  uniform,  but  without  her 
cap.  It  was  as  if  in  doffing  her  cap,  she  struck  her 
first  note  of  independence  against  the  Doctor's  rule. 

He  began  professionally.  "  Doctor  Bryer  tele- 
phoned this  morning  that  his  attendance  of  the  case 
had  been  only  during  my  absence.  That  he  did  not 
care  to  keep  it  unless  I  definitely  intended  to  with- 
draw. I  told  him  to  go  ahead.  I  told  him  also 
that  you  were  a  good  nurse.  I  had  to  whitewash 
my  conscience  a  bit  to  say  it,  Hilda  — " 

Her  head  went  up.  "  I  am  a  good  nurse.  But 
I  am  more  than  a  nurse,  I  am  a  woman.  Oh,  I 
know  you  are  blaming  me  for  what  you  think  I  have 
done.  But  if  you  stood  under  a  tree  and  a  great 
ripe  peach  hung  just  out  of  your  reach,  could  you 
be  blamed  for  shaking  the  tree?  Well,  I  shook  the 
tree." 

She  was  very  handsome  as  she  gave  her  defense 
with  flashing  eyes. 

274 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

"  The  General  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  that's 
more  than  you  would  ever  have  done.  You  liked  to 
think  that  I  was  half  in  love  with  you.  You  liked 
to  pretend  that  you  were  half  in  love  with  me.  But 
would  you  ever  have  offered  me  ease  and  rest  from 
hard  work?  Would  you  ever  have  thought  that  I 
might  some  day  be  your  daughter's  equal  in  your 
home?  Oh,  I  have  wanted  good  times.  I  used  to 
sit  night  after  night  alone  in  the  office  while  you 
and  Jean  went  out  and  did  the  things  I  was  dying 
to  do.  I  wanted  to  go  to  dances  and  to  the  theater 
and  to  supper  with  a  gay  crowd.  But  you  never 
seemed  to  think  of  it.  I  am  young  and  I  want 
pretty  clothes  —  yet  you  thought  I  was  satisfied  to 
have  you  come  home  and  say  a  few  careless  pleas- 
ant words,  and  to  tease  me  a  little.  That  was  all 
you  ever  did  for  me  —  all  you  ever  wanted. 

"  But  the  General  wants  more  than  that.  He 
wants  me  here  in  the  big  house,  to  be  his  wife,  and 
to  meet  his  friends.  He  had  a  man  come  up  the 
other  day  with  a  lot  of  rings,  and  he  bought  me 
this."  She  showed  the  great  diamonds  flashing  on 
her  third  finger.  "  I  have  always  wanted  a  ring  like 
this,  and  now  I  can  have  as  many  as  I  want.  Do 
you  blame  me  for  shaking  the  tree?  " 

He  sat,  listening,  spellbound  to  her  sophistry. 
But  was  it  sophistry?  Wasn't  some  of  it  true? 
He  saw  her  for  the  first  time  as  a  woman  wanting 
things  like  other  women. 

275 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  swept  out  her  hand  to  include  the  contents 
of  the  little  room.  "  I  have  always  longed  for  a 
place  like  this.  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  china. 
But  I  know  that  all  that  stuff  in  the  cabinet  cost 
a  fortune.  And  it's  a  pretty  room,  and  some  day 
when  I  am  the  General's  wife,  I'll  ask  you  here 
to  take  tea  with  me,  and  I'll  wear  a  silver  gown 
like  your  daughter  wears,  and  I  think  you'll  be  sur- 
prised to  see  that  I  can  do  it  well." 

He  flung  up  his  hand.  "  I  can't  argue  it,  Hilda. 
I  can't  analyze  it.  But  it  is  all  wrong.  In  all  the 
years  that  you  worked  for  me,  while  I  laughed  at 
you,  I  respected  you.  But  I  don't  respect  you 
now." 

She  shrugged.  "Do  you  think  I  care?  And  a 
man's  respect  after  all  is  rather  a  cold  thing,  isn't 
it?  But  I  am  sorry  you  feel  as  you  do  about  it. 
I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  you  wish  me 
happiness." 

"  Happiness  — "  His  anger  seemed  to  die  sud- 
denly. "  You  won't  find  happiness,  Hilda,  if  you 
separate  a  son  from  his  father." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that?  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  His  father  was  angry  at  his  —  interference." 

He  stood  up.  "We  won't  discuss  it.  But  you 
may  tell  him  this.  That  I  am  glad  his  son  is  poor, 
for  my  daughter  will  marry  now  the  man  and  not 
his  money." 

"  Then  he  will  marry  her?  " 
276 


HILDA  SHAKES  A  TREE 

"  Yes.     On  Christmas  Day." 

She  wished  that  she  might  tell  him  the  date  of 
her  own  wedding,  but  she  did  not  know  it.  The 
General  seemed  in  no  hurry.  He  had  carefully  ob- 
served the  conventions;  had  hired  a  housekeeper 
and  a  maid,  and  there  was,  of  course,  the  day  nurse. 
Having  thus  surrounded  his  betrothed  with  a  sort 
of  feminine  bodyguard,  he  spoke  of  the  wedding  as 
happening  in  the  spring.  And  he  was  hard  to  move. 
As  has  been  said,  the  General  had  once  commanded 
a  brigade.  He  was  immensely  entertained  and 
fascinated  by  the  lady  who  was  to  be  his  wife.  But 
he  was  not  to  be  managed  by  her.  She  found  her- 
self, as  he  grew  stronger,  quite  strangely  deferring 
to  his  wishes.  She  found  herself,  indeed,  rather  un- 
expectedly dominated. 

She  came  back  to  the  Doctor.  "  Aren't  you  going 
to  wish  me  happiness?  " 

«  No.     How  can  I,  Hilda?  " 

After  he  had  left  her,  she  stood  very  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  She  could  still  see  him  as  he 
had  towered  above  her  —  his  crinkled  hair  waving 
back  from  his  handsome  head.  She  had  always 
liked  the  youth  of  him  and  his  laughter  and  his 
boyish  fun. 

The  rich  man  upstairs  was  —  old  — . 


277 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   VISION   OF   BRAVE   WOMEN 

AND  now  the  Tin  Soldier  was  to  go  to  the  wars ! 

Berry,  swinging  downtown,  found  himself  gazing 
squarely  into  the  eyes  of  the  khaki-clad  men  whom 
he  met.  He  was  one  of  them  at  last ! 

He  was  on  his  way  to  meet  Jean.  The  day  before 
they  had  gone  to  church  together.  They  had  heard 
burning  words  from  a  fearless  pulpit.  The  old  man 
who  had  preached  had  set  no  limits  on  his  patriot- 
ism. The  cause  of  the  Allies  was  the  cause  of  hu- 
manity, the  cause  of  humanity  was  the  cause  of 
Christ.  He  would  have  had  the  marching  hymn 
of  the  Americans  "  Onward,  Christian  Soldiers." 
His  Master  was  not  a  shrinking  idealist,  but  a 
prophet  unafraid.  "Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin! 
Woe  unto  thee,  Bethsaida!  ...  It  shall  be  more 
tolerable  for  Tyre  and  Sidon  in  the  day  of  judgment 
than  for  you.  And  thou,  Capernaum,  which  art  ex- 
alted unto  Heaven,  shalt  be  brought  down  to 
hell  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  too  old  to  go  myself,"  the  old  man  had  said, 
"but  I  have  sent  my  sons.  In  the  face  of  the 
world's  need,  no  man  has  a  right  to  hold  another 
278 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

back.  Personal  considerations  which  might  once 
have  seemed  sufficient  must  now  be  set  aside. 
Things  are  at  stake  which  involve  not  only  the 
honor  of  a  nation  but  the  honor  of  the  individual. 
To  call  a  man  a  coward  in  the  old  days  was  to  chal- 
lenge his  physical  courage.  To  know  him  as  a 
slacker  in  these  modern  times  is  to  doubt  the  qual- 
ity of  his  mind  and  spirit.  '  I  pray  thee  have  me 
excused '  is  the  word  of  one  lost  to  the  high  mean- 
ings of  justice  —  of  love  and  loyalty  and  liberty  — " 

Stirring  words.  The  lovers  had  thrilled  to  them. 
Berry's  hand  had  gone  out  to  Jean  and  her  own 
hand  clasped  it.  Together  they  saw  the  vision  of 
his  going  forth,  a  shining  knight,  girded  for  the  bat- 
tle by  a  beloved  woman  —  saw  it  through  the  glam- 
our of  high  hopes  and  youthful  ardor ! 

A  troop  of  cavalry  on  the  Avenue!  Jackies  in 
saucer  caps,  infantry,  artillery,  aviation!  Blue 
and  red  and  green  cords  about  wide-brimmed  hats. 
Husky  young  Westerners,  slim  young  Southerners, 
square-chinned  young  Northerners  —  a  great  broth- 
erhood, their  faces  set  one  way  —  and  he  was  to 
share  their  hardships,  to  be  cold  and  hungry  with 
the  best  of  them,  wet  and  dirty  with  the  worst.  It 
would  be  a  sort  of  glorified  penance  for  his  delay  in 
doing  the  thing  which  too  long  he  had  left  undone. 

He  was  to  have  lunch  with  Jean  in  the  House 
restaurant  —  he  was  a  little  early,  and  as  he  loi- 
tered through  the  Capitol  grounds,  in  his  ears  there 
279 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

was  the  echo  of  fairy  trumpets — "  trutter-a-trutt, 
trutter-a-trutt  — " 

The  old  Capitol  had  always  been  for  Derry  a 
place  of  dreams.  He  loved  every  inch  of  it.  The 
sunset  view  of  the  city  from  the  west  front;  the 
bronze  doors  on  the  east,  the  labyrinthine  maze  of 
the  corridors ;  the  tesselated  floors,  the  mottled  mar- 
ble of  the  balustrades ;  the  hushed  approach  to  the 
Supreme  Court;  the  precipitous  descent  into  the 
galleries  of  House  and  Senate,  the  rap  of  the  Speak- 
er's gavel  —  the  rattle  of  argument  as  political  foes 
contended  in  the  legislative  arena;  the  more  sub- 
dued squabbles  on  the  Senate  floor ;  the  savory  smell 
of  food  rising  from  the  restaurants  in  the  lower  re- 
gions; the  climb  to  the  dome,  the  look  of  the  sky 
when  one  came  out  at  the  top ;  Statuary  Hall  and  its 
awesome  echoes;  the  Eotunda  with  its  fringe  of 
tired  tourists,  its  frescoed  frieze  —  Columbus,  Cor- 
tez,  Penn,  Pizarro  — ;  the  mammoth  paintings  — 
Pocahontas,  and  the  Pilgrims,  De  Soto,  and  the 
Surrender  of  Cornwallis,  the  Signing  of  the  Dec- 
laration, and  Washington's  Resignation  as  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  —  Indian  and  Quaker,  Puritan  and 
Cavalier  —  these  were  some  of  the  things  which  had 
ravished  the  eyes  of  the  boy  Derry  in  the  days  when 
his  father  had  come  to  the  Capitol  to  hobnob  with 
old  cronies,  and  his  son  had  been  allowed  to  roam 
at  will. 

280 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

But  above  and  beyond  everything  else,  there  were 
the  great  mural  paintings  on  the  west  wall  of  the 
House  side,  above  the  grand  marble  staircase. 

"  Westward  the  Course  of  Empire  takes  its 
way — !" 

Oh,  those  pioneers  with  their  faces  turned  to- 
wards the  Golden  West !  The  tired  women  and  the 
bronzed  men !  Not  one  of  them  without  that  eager 
look  of  hope,  of  a  dream  realized  as  the  land  of 
Promise  looms  ahead ! 

Derry  had  often  talked  that  picture  over  with  his 
mother.  "  It  was  such  men,  Derry,  who  made  our 
country  —  men  unafraid  —  North,  South,  East  and 
West,  it  was  these  who  helped  to  shape  the  Nation's 
destiny,  as  we  must  help  to  shape  it  for  those  who 
come  after  us." 

It  was  in  front  of  this  picture  that  he  was  to  meet 
Jean.  He  had  wanted  to  share  with  her  the  in- 
spiration of  it. 

She  was  late,  and  he  waited,  leaning  on  the  mar- 
ble rail  which  overlooked  the  stairway.  People 
were  going  up  and  down  passing  the  picture,  but 
not  seeing  it,  their  pulses  calm,  their  blood  cold. 
The  doors  of  the  elevators  opened  and  shut,  women 
came  and  went  in  velvet  and  fur,  laughing.  Men 
followed  them,  laughing,  and  the  picture  was  not 
for  them. 

Derry  wondered  if  it  were  symbolic,  this  indif- 
281 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

ference  of  the  crowd.  Was  the  world's  pageant  of 
horrors  and  of  heroism  thus  unseen  by  the  eyes  of 
the  unthinking? 

And  now  Jean  ascended,  the  top  of  her  hat  first  — 
a  blur  of  gray,  then  the  red  of  the  rose  that  he  had 
sent  her,  a  wave  of  her  gray  muff  as  she  saw  him. 
He  went  down  to  meet  her,  and  stood  with  her  on 
the  landing.  Beneath  the  painting,  on  one  side, 
ran  the  inscription,  "  No  pent  up  Utica  confines  our 
powers,  but  the  boundless  Continent  is  ours,"  on 
the  other  side,  "  The  Spirit  moves  in  its  allotted 
space;  the  mind  is  narrow  in  a  narrow  sphere." 

Thousands  of  men  and  women  came  and  went 
and  never  read  those  words.  But  boys  read  them, 
sitting  on  the  stairs  or  leaning  over  the  rail  —  and 
their  minds  were  carried  on  and  on.  Old  men,  com- 
ing back  after  years  to  read  them  again,  could  tes- 
tify what  the  words  had  meant  to  them  in  the  field 
of  high  endeavor. 

Jean  had  seen  the  painting  many  times,  but  now, 
standing  on  the  upper  gallery  floor  with  Derry,  it 
took  on  new  meanings.     She  saw  a  girl  with  hope  in 
her  eyes,  a  young  mother  with  a  babe  at  her  breast ; 
|  homely  middle-aged  women  redeemed  from  the  com- 
monplace by  that  long  gaze  ahead  of  them;  old 
women  straining  towards  that  sunset  glow.     She 
saw,  indeed,  the  Vision  of  Brave  Women.     "  If  it 
could  only  be  like  that  for  me,  Derry.     Do  you  see 
282 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

—  they  go  with  their  husbands,  those  women,  and  I 
must  stay  behind." 

"  You  will  go  with  me,  beloved,  in  spirit  — " 

They  fell  into  silence  before  the  limitless  vista. 

And  now  more  people  were  coming  up  the  stairs, 
a  drawling,  familiar  voice  —  Alma  Drew  on  the 
lauding  below.  With  her  a  tall  young  man.  She 
was  turning  on  him  all  her  batteries  of  charm. 

Alma  passed  the  picture  and  did  not  look  at  it, 
she  passed  the  lovers  and  did  not  see  them.  And 
she  was  saying  as  she  passed,  "  I  don't  know  why 
any  man  should  be  expected  to  fight.  I  shouldn't 
if  I  were  a  man." 

Jean  drew  a  long  breath.  "  There,  but  for  the 
grace  of  God,  goes  Jean  McKenzie." 

Derry  laughed.  "  You  were  never  like  that. 
Not  for  the  least  minute.  You  were  afraid  for  the 
man  you  loved.  It  isn't  fear  with  Alma." 

But  the  thought  of  Alma  did  not  trouble  them 
long.  There  was  too  much  else  in  their  world  to- 
day. As  they  walked  through  the  historic  halls, 
they  had  with  them  all  the  romance  of  the  past  — 
and  so  Kobert  Fulton  with  his  boats,  Pere  Mar- 
quette  with  his  cross  and  beads,  Frances  Willard 
in  her  strange  old-fashioned  dress  spoke  to  them  of 
the  dreams  which  certain  inspired  men  and  women 
have  translated  into  action. 

They  talked  of  these  things  while  they  ate  their 
283 


'THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

lunch.  The  black  waiter,  who  knew  Derry,  hov- 
ered about  them.  His  freedom,  too,  had  been  the 
culmination  of  a  dream. 

"  Men  laugh  at  the  dreamers,"  Derry  said,  "  then 
honor  them  after  they  are  dead." 

"  That's  the  cruelty,  the  sadness  of  it,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Not  to  the  dreamer.  Do  you  think  that  Pere 
Marquette  cared  for  what  smaller  minds  might 
think,  or  Frances  Willard?  They  had  their  vision 
backed  by  a  great  faith  in  the  Tightness  of  things, 
and  so  Marquette  followed  the  river  and  planted  the 
cross,  and  Frances  Willard  blazed  the  way  for  the 
thing  which  has  come  to  pass." 

After  lunch  they  motored  to  Drusilla's.  They 
used  one  of  Dr.  McKenzie's  cars.  Derry  had 
ceased  to  draw  upon  his  father's  establishment  for 
anything.  He  lived  at  the  club,  and  met  his  ex- 
penses with  the  small  balance  which  remained  to 
his  credit  in  the  bank. 

"  You  can  give  Jean  whatever  you  think  best," 
he  told  the  Doctor,  "  but  I  shall  try  to  live  on  what 
I  have  until  I  go,  and  then  on  my  pay." 

"Your  pay,  my  dear  boy,  will  just  about  equal 
what  you  now  spend  in  tips." 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  it.  It's  an  adventure  for 
rich  men  when  they  have  to  be  poor.  That's  why 
a  lot  of  fellows  have  gone  into  it.  They  are  tired 
of  being  the  last  word  in  civilization.  They  want 
to  get  down  to  primitive  things." 
284 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

"  Mrs.  Witherspoon  can't  imagine  Berry  Drake 
without  two  baths  a  day." 

"  Can't  she?  Well,  Mrs.  Witherspoon  may  find 
that  Derry  Drake  is  about  like  the  rest  of  the  fel- 
lows. No  better  and  no  worse.  There  is  no  dis- 
grace in  liking  to  be  clean.  The  disgrace  comes 
when  one  kicks  against  a  thing  that  can't  be 
helped." 

In  the  Doctor's  car,  therefore,  they  arrived  at 
Drusilla's. 

"  We  have  come  to  tell  you  that  we  are  going  to 
be  married." 

"  You  Babes  in  the  Wood !  " 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  wedding? 

"  Of  course  I'll  come.  Marion,  do  you  hear? 
They  are  going  to  be  married." 

"  And  after  that,  Drusilla," —  he  smiled  as  he 
phrased  it — "your  Tin  Soldier  will  go  to  the 
wars." 

Jean  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Is  that 
what  she  called  you  —  a  Tin  Soldier?  " 

"  It  is  what  I  called  myself." 

Marion  having  come  forward  to  say  the  proper 
thing,  added,  "  Drusilla's  going,  too." 

"  Drusilla?  " 

"  Yes,  with  my  college  unit  —  to  run  errands  in 
a  flivver." 

The  next  day,  encountering  Derry  on  the  street, 
Drusilla  opened  her  knitting  bag  and  brought  out 
285 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

a  tiny  parcel.  "  It's  my  wedding  gift  to  you.  I 
found  it  in  Emily's  toy  shop." 

It  was  a  gay  little  French  tin  soldier.  "  For  a 
mascot,"  she  told  him,  seriously.  "  Derry,  dear,  I 
shall  not  try  to  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  your  mar- 
riage to  Jean.  About  your  going.  If  I  could  sing 
it,  you'd  know.  But  I  haven't  any  words.  It  —  it 
seems  so  —  perfect  that  the  Tin  Soldier  should  go 
—  to  the  wTars  —  and  that  the  girl  he  leaves  behind 
him  should  be  a  little  white  maid  like  —  Jean." 

Thus  Drusilla,  with  a  shake  in  her  voice,  re- 
nouncing a  —  dream. 

Derry,  who  was  on  his  way  to  Margaret's  showed 
the  tin  soldier  to  Teddy  and  his  little  sister.  "  He 
is  going  to  the  wars." 

"With  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  When  are  you  going?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  — " 

"  I  should  think  you  wouldn't  like  to  leave  us." 

"  Well,  I  don't.     But  I  am  coming  back." 

"  Daddy  didn't  come  back." 

"  But  some  men  do." 

"  Perhaps  God  doesn't  love  you  as  much  as  He 
did  Daddy,  and  He  won't  want  to  keep  you." 

"  Perhaps  not  — " 

The  things  which  the  child  had  spoken  stayed 
with  Derry  all  that  day.  His  feeling  about  death 
had  always  been  that  of  a  man  who  has  long  years 
286 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

before  him.  He  had  rather  jauntily  conceded  that 
some  men  die  young,  but  that  the  chances  in  his  case 
were  for  a  green  old  age.  He  might  indeed  have 
fifty  years  before  him,  and  in  fifty  years  one  could 

—  get  ready  —  age  had  to  do  with  serious  things, 
people  were  peaceful  and  prepared. 

But  to  get  ready  now.  To  face  the  thing 
squarely,  saying,  "  I  may  not  come  back  —  there 
are,  indeed,  a  thousand  chances  that  I  shall  not 
come."  Lacking  those  fifty  years  in  which  to  grow 
towards  the  thought  of  dissolution,  what  ought  one 
to  do?  Should  a  man  make  himself  fit  in  some  spe- 
cial fashion? 

There  was,  too,  the  thought  of  those  whom  he 
might  leave  behind.  Of  Jean  —  his  wife  —  whom 
he  would  leave.  She  would  break  her  heart  —  at 
first.  And  then — ?  Would  she  remember? 
Would  she  forget?  Would  he  and  those  millions 
of  others  who  had  gone  down  in  battle  become  dim 
memories  —  pale  shadows  against  the  vivid  back- 
ground of  the  hurrying  world  ? 

He  felt  that  he  could  not,  must  not  speak  of 
these  things  to  Jean.  So  he  talked  of  them  to 
Emily. 

"  If  anything  should  happen  to  me,"  he  said,  "  I 
couldn't,  of  course,  expect  that  Jean  would  go  on  — 
caring  — .  And  if  there  should  ever  be  anyone  else 

—  I  —  I  should  want  her  to  be  happy." 

"  Don't  try  to  be  magnanimous,"  Miss  Emily  ad 
287        - 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

vised.  "  You  are  human,  and  it  isn't  in  the  heart 
of  man  to  want  the  woman  he  loves  ever  to  turn  to 
another.  Let  the  years  take  care  of  that.  But  you 
can  be  very  sure  of  one  thing  —  that  no  one  will 
ever  take  your  place  with  Jean." 

"  But  she  may  marry." 

"  Why  should  you  torture  yourself  with  that? 
You  have  given  her  something  that  no  one  else  can 
ever  give  —  the  wonder  and  rapture  of  first  love. 
And  the  heroes  of  a  war  like  this  will  be  in  a  very 
special  manner  set  apart!  *A  glorious  company, 
the  flower  of  men,  to  serve  as  models  for  the  mighty 
world!'" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  You  must 
think  now  only  of  love  and  life  and  of  coming  back 
to  Jean." 

He  reached  up  his  hand  and  caught  hers  in  a 
warm  clasp.  "  Do  you  know  you  are  the  nearest 
thing  to  a  mother  that  I've  known  since  I  lost 
mine?  " 

He  spoke,  too,  rather  awkwardly,  of  the  feeling 
about  —  getting  ready. 

"  I  have  always  thought  that  if  I  tried  to  live 
straight  —  I've  thought,  too,  that  it  wouldn't  come 
until  I  was  old  —  that  I  should  have  plenty  of  time 
—  and  that  by  then,  I  should  be  more  —  spiritual." 

"  You  will  never  be  more  spiritual  than  you  are 
at  this  moment.  Youth  is  nearer  Heaven  than  age. 
I  have  always  thought  that.  As  we  grow  old  —  we 
288 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

are  stricken  by  —  fear  —  of  poverty,  of  disease  — 
of  death.  It  is  youth  which  has  faith  and  hope." 

Before  he  left  her,  he  gave  her  a  sacred  charge. 
"  If  anything  happens,  I  know  what  you'll  be  to  — 
Jean  —  and  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  help  you've  been 
this  morning." 

She  was  thrilled  by  that.  And  after  he  left  her 
she  thought  much  about  him.  Of  what  it  would 
have  meant  to  her  to  have  a  son  like  that. 

Women  had  said  to  her,  "  You  should  be  glad 
that  you  have  no  boy  to  send  — ."  But  she  was  not 
glad.  Were  they  mad,  these  mothers,  to  want  to 
hold  their  boys  back?  Had  the  days  of  peace  held 
no  dangers  that  they  should  be  so  afraid  for  them 
now? 

For  peace  had  dangers  —  men  and  women  had 
been  worshipping  false  gods.  They  had  set  up  a 
Golden  Calf  and  had  bowed  before  it  —  and  their 
children,  lured  by  luxury,  emasculated  by  ease  of 
living,  had  wanted  more  ease,  more  luxury,  more 
time  in  which  to  —  play ! 

And  now  life  had  become  suddenly  a  vivid  Cru- 
sade, with  everybody  marching  in  one  direction,  and 
the  young  men  were  manly  in  the  old  ways  of 
strength  and  heroism,  and  the  young  women  were 
womanly  in  the  old  way  of  sending  their  lovers 
forth,  and  in  a  new  way,  when,  like  Drusilla,  they 
went  forth  themselves  to  the  front  line  of  battle. 

To  have  children  in  these  days,  meant  to  have 
289 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

something  to  give.  One  need  not  stand  before  suf- 
fering humanity  empty-handed ! 

War  was  a  monstrous  thing,  a  murderous  thing 
—  but  surely  this  war  was  a  righteous  one  —  a  fire 
which  would  cleanse  the  world.  Men  and  women, 
because  of  it,  were  finding  in  themselves  something 
which  could  suffer  for  others,  something  in  them- 
selves which  could  sacrifice,  something  which  went 
beyond  body  and  mind,  something  which  reached  up 
and  touched  their  souls. 

So,  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  Miss  Emily  had  a 
vision  of  Light.  After  the  war  was  over,  things 
could  never  be  as  they  had  been  before.  The  spirit 
which  had  sent  men  forth  in  this  Crusade,  which 
had  sent  women,  would  survive,  please  God,  and 
show  itself  in  a  greater  sense  of  fellowship  —  of 
brotherhood.  Might  not  men,  even  in  peace,  go  on 
praying  as  they  were  praying  it  now  in  war,  the 
prayer  of  Cromwell's  men,  "  Oh,  Lord,  it's  a  hard 
battle,  but  it's  for  the  rights  of  the  common  peo- 
ple— "  Might  not  the  rich  young  men  who  were 
learning  to  be  the  brothers  of  the  poor,  and  the 
poor  young  men  who  were  learning  in  a  large  sense 
of  the  brotherhood  of  the  rich  —  might  these  not 
still  clasp  hands  in  a  sacred  cause? 

Yes,  she  was  sorry  that  she  had  no  son.     Slim 

and  gray-haired,  a  little  worn  by  life's  struggle,  her 

blood  quickened  at  the  thought  of  a  son  like  Derry. 

The  warmth  of  his  handclasp,  the  glimpse  of  that 

290 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

inner  self  which  he  had  given  her,  these  were  things 
to  hold  close  to  her  heart.  She  had  known  on  that 
first  night  that  he  was  —  different.  She  had  not 
dreamed  that  she  should  hold  him  —  close. 

Rather  pensively  she  arranged  her  window.  It 
was  snowing  hard,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Christmas  was  only  three  days  away,  customers 
were  scarce. 

The  window  display  was  made  effective  by  the 
use  of  Jean's  purple  camels  —  a  sandy  desert,  a 
star  overhead,  blazing  with  all  the  realism  of  a  tiny 
electric  bulb  behind  it,  the  Wise  Men,  the  Inn  where 
the  Babe  lay,  and  in  a  far  corner  a  group  of  shep- 
herds watching  a  woolly  flock  — 

Her  cyclamen  was  dead.  A  window  had  been  left 
open,  and  when  she  arrived  one  morning  she  had 
found  it  frozen. 

She  had  thanked  Ulrich  Stolle  for  it,  in  a  pleas- 
antly worded  note.  She  had  not  dared  express  her 
full  appreciation,  lest  she  seem  fulsome.  Few  men 
in  her  experience  had  sent  her  flowers.  Never  in  all 
the  years  of  her  good  friendship  with  Bruce  Mc- 
Kenzie  had  he  bestowed  upon  her  a  single  bloom. 

Several  days  had  passed,  and  there  had  been  no 
answer  to  the  note.  She  had  not  really  expected  an 
answer,  but  she  had  thought  he  might  come  in. 

He  came  in  now,  with  a  great  parcel  in  his  arms. 
He  was  a  picturesque  figure  in  an  enveloping  cape 
and  a  soft  hat  pulled  down  over  his  gray  hair,  and 
291 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

with   white  flakes   powdered   over  his  shoulders. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Bridges,"  he  said;  "did 
you  think  I  was  never  coming?  " 

His  manner  of  assuming  that  she  had  expected 
him  quite  took  Emily's  breath  away.  "  I  am  glad 
you  came/'  she  said,  simply.  "  It  is  rather  dreary, 
with  the  snow,  and  this  morning  I  found  my  cycla- 
men frozen  on  the  shelf." 

He  glanced  up  at  it  "  We  have  other  flowers," 
he  said,  and,  with  a  sure  sense  of  the  dramatic 
effect,  untied  the  string  of  his  parcel. 

Then  there  was  revealed  to  Miss  Emily's  aston- 
ished eyes  not  the  flowers  that  she  had  expected, 
but  four  small  plush  elephants,  duplicates  in  every- 
thing but  size  of  the  one  she  had  loaned  to  Ulrich, 
and  each  elephant  carried  on  his  back  a  fragrant 
load  of  violets  cunningly  kept  fresh  by  a  glass  tube 
hidden  in  his  trappings. 

"There,"  said  Ulrich  Stolle,  "my  father  sent 
them.  It  is  his  taste,  not  mine  —  but  I  knew  that 
you  would  understand." 

"  But,"  Miss  Emily  gasped,  "  did  he  make  them?  " 

"  Most  certainly.  With  his  clever  old  fingers  — 
and  he  will  make  as  many  more  as  you  wish." 

Thus  came  white  elephants  back  to  Miss  Emily's 
shelves.  "  It  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true," 
she  said,  sniffing  the  violets  and  smiling  at 
him. 

"  Nothing  is  too  good  to  be  true,"  he  told  her, 
292 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

"  and  now  I  have  something  to  ask.     That  you  will 
come  and  see  my  father." 

"  With  pleasure." 

He  glanced  around  the  empty  shop.  "  Why  not 
now?  There  are  no  customers  —  and  the  gray 
light  makes  things  dreary  — .  And  it  is  spring  in 
my  hothouses  —  there  are  a  thousand  cyclamens 
for  the  one  you  have  lost,  a  thousand  violets  for 
every  one  on  the  backs  of  these  little  elephants  — 
narcissus  and  daffodils  — .  Why  not?  " 

Why  not,  indeed?  Why  not,  when  Adventure 
beckoned,  go  to  meet  it?  She  had  tied  herself  for 
so  many  years  to  the  commonplace  and  the  prac- 
tical. 

And  so  Miss  Emily  closed  her  shop,  and  went  in 
Ulrich's  car,  leaving  a  card  tucked  in  the  shop  door, 
"  Will  reopen  at  three." 

It  was  at  one  o'clock  that  Dr.  McKenzie  came 
and  found  that  door  shut  against  him.  He  shook 
the  knob  with  some  impatience,  and  stamped  his 
foot  impotently  when  no  one  answered.  His  or- 
ders had  come  and  he  must  leave  for  France  to- 
morrow. He  had  not  told  Jean,  he  had  come  to 
Emily  to  ask  her  to  break  the  news  — . 

He  stood  there  in  the  snow  feeling  quite  unex- 
pectedly forlorn.  Heretofore  he  had  always  been 
able  to  put  his  finger  on  Emily  when  he  had  wanted 
her.  He  had  needed  only  to  beckon  and  she  had 
followed. 

293 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

And  how  could  he  know  that  she  was  at  that  very 
moment  following  other  beckonings?  That  she  had 
responded  to  a  call  that  was  not  the  call  of  selfish 
need,  but  of  a  subtle  understanding  of  her  rare 
charm.  Bruce  McKenzie  had,  perhaps,  subcon- 
sciously felt  that  Emily  would  be  fortunate  to  have 
a  place  by  his  fireside,  to  bask  in  his  presence  — 
Ulrich  Stolle  leading  Emily  through  the  moist  fra- 
grance of  his  hot-houses  counted  himself  blessed  by 
the  gods  to  have  her  there.  "  You  see,"  he  said, 
"  that  here  it  is  spring." 

It  was  indeed  spring,  with  birds  singing,  not  in 
cages,  but  free  to  fly  as  they  pleased ;  with  the  sound 
of  water,  as  a  little  artificial  stream  wound  its  way 
over  moss-covered  rocks  set  where  it  might  splash 
and  fall  over  them  —  with  ferns  bending  down  to 
it  and  tiny  flashing  fish  following  it. 

"  My  father  did  that,"  Ulrich  explained,  "  when 
he  was  younger  and  stronger.  But  now  he  sits  in 
his  chair  and  works  at  his  toys." 

The  workshop  of  Franz  Stolle  was  entered 
through  the  door  of  the  last  hothouse;  he  had  thus 
always  a  vista  of  splashing  color  —  red  and  purples 
and  yellows  —  great  stretches,  and  always  with  the 
green  to  rest  his  eyes;  writh  the  door  opened  be- 
tween there  came  to  him  the  fragrance,  and  the 
singing  of  birds,  and  the  sound  of  the  little  stream. 

He  sat  in  a  big  chair,  bent  a  little,  plump  and 
ruddy-faced,  with  a  fringe  of  white  hair.  He  wore 
294 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

horn  spectacles  —  and  a  velvet  coat.  He  rose  when 
Emily  entered,  elegant  of  manner,  in  spite  of  his 
rotundity. 

"  So  it  is  the  lady  of  the  elephants,  Ulrich? 
When  you  telephoned  I  thought  it  was  too  good  to 
be  true." 

"  Your  son  says  that  nothing  is  too  good  to  be 
true,"  Emily  told  him,  sitting  down  in  the  chair  that 
Ulrich  placed  for  her,  "  but  I  have  a  feeling  that 
this  will  all  vanish  in  a  moment  like  Aladdin's 
palace — "  She  waved  her  hands  towards  the 
shelves  that  went  around  the  room.  "  I  never  ex- 
pected to  see  such  toys  again." 

For  there  they  were  —  the  toys  of  Germany. 
The  quaint  Noah's  arks,  the  woolly  dogs  and  the 
mewing  cats  —  the  moon-faced  dolls. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  have  made  them  all." 

"  Many  of  them  were  made  years  ago,  Fraulein, 
and  I  have  kept  them  for  remembrance,  but  many 
of  them  are  new.  When  my  son  told  me  that  it  was 
hard  for  you  to  get  toys,  I  gathered  around  me  a 
few  old  friends  who  learned  their  trade  in  Nurem- 
berg. We  have  done  much  in  a  few  days.  We  will 
do  more.  We  are  all  patriotic.  We  will  show  the 
Prussians  that  the  children  of  America  do  not  lack 
for  toys.  What  does  the  Prussian  know  of  play? 
He  knows  only  killing  and  killing  and  killing." 

The  old  man  beat  his  fist  upon  the  table,  "Kill- 
ing!" 

295 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"You  see,"  Ulrich  said  to  Emily,  "there  are 
many  of  us  who  feel  that  way.  Yet  unthinking 
people  cannot  see  that  we  are  loyal,  that  our  hearts 
beat  with  the  hearts  of  those  who  have  English 
blood  and  French  blood  and  Italian  blood  and 
Dutch  blood  in  their  veins,  and  who  have  but  one 
country  —  America." 

The  old  man  had  recovered  himself.  "  We  are 
not  here  to  talk  of  killing,  but  of  what  I  and  my 
friends  shall  make  for  you.  And  you  are  to  have 
lunch  with  us?  I  have  planned  it,  and  I  won't  take 
'  no,'  Fraulein.  You  and  I  have  so  much  to  say  to 
each  other." 

Emily  wondered  if  it  were  really  her  middle-aged 
and  prosaic  self  who  sat  later  at  the  table,  being 
waited  on  by  a  very  competent  butler,  and  deferred 
to  by  the  two  men  as  if  she  were  a  queen. 

It  was  she  and  the  old  man  who  did  most  of  the 
talking,  but  always  she  was  conscious  of  Ulrich's 
attentive  eyes,  of  the  weight  of  the  quiet  words 
which  he  interjected  now  and  then  in  the  midst  of 
his  father's  volubility. 

"  Germany,  my  mother,  is  dead,"  wailed  the  old 
man.  "  I  have  wept  over  her  grave ;  those  who 
wage  this  war  against  humanity  are  bastards,  the 
real  sons  and  daughters  of  that  sweet  old  Germany 
are  here  in  America  —  they  have  come  to  their  fos- 
ter-mother, and  they  love  her. 

"  If  I  had  been  younger,"  he  went  on,  "  I  should 
296 


TEE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

have  fought.  My  son  would  have  fought.  But  as 
it  is  we  can  make  toys  —  and  we  shall  say  to  the 
Prussians  across  the  sea,  l  You  have  killed  our 
mother  —  your  people  are  no  longer  our  people,  nor 
your  God  our  God.'  " 

Ulrich  took  Emily  home.  She  carried  with  her  a 
Noah's  Ark,  and  a  precious  pot  of  cyclamen.  She 
had  chosen  the  cyclamen  out  of  all  the  rest.  "  It  is 
such  a  cheerful  thing  blooming  in  my  shop." 

"  There  are  other  cheerful  things  in  your  shop," 
he  told  her. 

As  she  met  his  smiling  eyes,  she  smiled  back,  "  Do 
you  mean  that  I  am  a  cheerful  thing?  " 

"  A  rose,  mein  Fraulein,  when  your  cheeks  are 
red,  like  this." 

Emily,  alone  at  last  in  the  Toy  Shop,  took  off  her 
hat  in  front  of  the  mirror  and  saw  her  red  cheeks. 
She  set  the  cyclamen  safely  in  a  warm  corner. 
The  four  elephants  with  their  fragrant  freight  of 
violets  made  an  exotic  and  incongruous  addition  to 
the  Christmas  scene  in  the  window. 

Bruce  McKenzie,  coming  in,  asked,  "  Where  did 
you  get  them  ?  " 

"The  elephants?  Ulrich  Stolle  brought  them. 
Do  you  know  him?  " 

"  Yes.     But  I  didn't  know  that  you  did." 

"His  father  makes  toys.  I  lent  him  my  white 
elephant,  and  he  made  these  — " 

She  spoke  without  self -consciousness,  and  Me- 
297 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Kenzie's  mind  was  on  his  own  matters,  so  they 
swept  away  from  the  subject  of  Ulrich  Stolle. 
"  Emily,"  Bruce  said,  "  I  have  my  orders.  Tomor- 
row at  twelve  I  must  leave  for  France." 

She  gazed  at  him  stupidly.    "  Tomorrow  — ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  — Jean— ?" 

"  I  haven't  told  her.  I  don't  know  how  to  tell 
her." 

"  You  won't  be  here  for  the  wedding  — ?  " 

"No." 

"  It  will  break  her  heart." 

"  You  needn't  tell  me  that.  Don't  I  know  it?  " 
His  voice  was  sharp  with  the  tension  of  suppressed 
emotion. 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  then  jumped  up  and 
placed  one  for  her.  "  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  he  said, 
"and  don't  make  me  forget  my  manners.  Some- 
how this  thing  gets  me  as  nothing  has  ever  gotten 
me  before.  It  isn't  that  I  mind  going  —  I  mind 
hurting  —  Jean  — " 

"  You  have  always  hated  to  hurt  people,"  Emily 
said.  "  In  some  ways  it's  a  sign  of  weakness." 

"  Don't  scold,"  he  begged.  "  I  know  I'm  not 
much  of  a  fellow,  but  you'll  be  sorry  for  me  a  little, 
won't  you,  Emily?  " 

She  did  not  melt  as  he  had  expected  to  the  ap- 
peal in  his  voice.  "  The  thing  we  have  to  think  of 
now,"  she  said,  "is  not  being  sorry  for  you,  but 
298 


THE  VISION  OF  BRAVE  WOMEN 

how  we  can  get  Jean  married  before  twelve  o'clock 
tomorrow  — " 

"  Oh,  of  course  we  can't." 

"  Of  course  we  can  —  if  we  make  up  our  minds 
to  it,  and  it's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

"  But  nothing  is  ready." 

"  Things  can  be  made  ready.  They  can  stand  up 
in  the  rose  drawing-room  at  ten,  and  you  can  give 
her  away." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "  I  didn't  know 
that  you  had  so  much  initiative." 

She  might  have  told  him  that  it  was  a  quality  on 
which  she  rather  prided  herself,  but  that  hitherto  it 
had  not  seemed  to  attract  him.  "  There  are  several 
things  as  yet  undiscovered  by  you,"  she  remarked 
casually,  as  she  locked  up  her  toys. 

Watching  her,  he  wondered  idly  if  there  were 
really  worlds  to  discover  in  Emily.  It  might  be 
interesting  to  —  find  out  — . 

"  Shall  you  miss  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  course.  And  now  if  you'll  see  that  the  back 
shutters  are  barred,  we'll  be  ready  to  go." 

Thus  she  checked  his  small  attempt  at  sentiment, 
and  on  the  way  home  they  talked  about  Jean.  "  If 
Derry  goes,  you  and  she  must  live  together  in  my 
house.  Let  that  be  understood.  I'd  rather  have 
her  with  you  than  with  anyone  else  in  the  whole 
wide  world." 

Thus  again  the  sacred  charge,  but  this  time  not 
299 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

as  a  favor,  but  in  lordly  fashion,  as  one  who  claims 
a  right. 

Jean  and  Derry  were  having  tea  at  the  club,  but 
could  not  be  reached  by  phone.  "  They  had  prob- 
ably motored  out  into  the  country/'  Emily  decided. 
"  We'll  have  to  do  things  before  they  come." 

The  things  that  she  did  were  stupendous. 

She  had  a  florist  up  in  two  hours  —  and  the  rose- 
colored  drawing  room  was  rosier  than  ever,  and  as 
fragrant  as  a  garden. 

She  telephoned  the  clergyman  —  "  At  ten  o'clock 
tomorrow." 

She  telephoned  the  caterer —  "A  wedding 
breakfast  — " 

She  telephoned  the  dressmaker  —  "  Miss  Mc- 
Kenzie's  gown  — " 

She  telephoned  Margaret  and  Marion  Gray  — . 

"  Is  there  anyone  else?  "  she  asked  the  Doctor. 
"  I  suppose  we  really  ought  to  tell  the  General." 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  But  Bronson  — ?    Derry  will  want  him." 

"  If  he  can  keep  a  secret  —  yes." 

Jean  and  Derry,  arriving  after  dark,  were  swept 
into  a  scene  of  excitement. 

Florists  on  the  stairs ! 

A  frenzied  dressmaker  waiting  with  Jean's  wed- 
ding gown ! 

Maids  with  mops  and  men  with  vacuums! 
300 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  BRAVE  WOMEN 

Julia  and  the  cook  helping  at  loose  ends  and  din- 
ner late ! 

What  did  it  all  mean? 

"  It  means/'  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  you  are  going 
to  be  married,  my  dear,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  But  why,  Daddy  — "  fear  showed  in  her  eyes  — 

"  Ask  Emily." 

"  Is  he  —  going  away, —  Emily?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"But  he  mustn't.  Derry,  do  you  hear?  He  is 
going  to  France  —  and  he  mustn't  — ' 

Derry  took  her  trembling  hands  in  his  firm  clasp. 
"  He  must  go,  you  know  that,  dearest."  His  touch 
steadied  her. 

He  leaned  down  to  her  and  sang :  — 

"Jeanne  D'Arc,  Jeanne  D'Arc  — 
Jeanne  D'Arc,  la  victoire  est  pour  vous." 

Her  head  went  up.  The  color  came  back  to  her 
cheeks. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  and  put  away  childish 
things  that  she  might  measure  up  to  the  stature  of 
her  lover's  faith  in  her. 

And  it  was  Jean,  the  Woman,  who  talked  long 
that  night  with  her  father  before  he  went  to  France. 


301 


CHAPTER  XXI 
DERBY'S  WIFE 

IT  snowed  hard  the  next  morning.  The  General, 
waking,  found  the  day  nurse  in  charge.  Bronson 
came  in  to  get  him  ready  for  his  breakfast.  There 
was  about  the  old  man  an  air  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment. He  hurried  a  little  in  his  preparations  for 
the  General's  bath.  But  everything  was  done  with 
exactness,  and  it  was  not  until  the  General  was 
shaved  and  sitting  up  in  his  gorgeous  mandarin 
robe  that  Bronson  said,  "  I'd  like  to  go  out  for  an 
hour  or  two  this  morning,  if  you  can  spare  me, 
sir—" 

"  In  this  snow?  I  thought  you  hated  snow. 
You've  always  been  a  perfect  pussy  cat  about  the 
cold,  Bronson." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  this  is  very  important,  sir." 

The  General  ran  his  eye  over  the  spruce  figure. 
"  And  you  are  all  dressed  up.  I  hope  you  are  not 
going  to  be  married,  Bronson." 

It  was  an  old  joke  between  them.  Bronson  was 
a  pre-destined  bachelor,  and  the  General  knew  it. 
But  he  liked  to  tease  him. 

"  No,  sir.  I'll  be  back  in  time  to  look  after  your 
lunch,  sir." 


DERRY'S  WIFE 

The  General  had  been  growing  stronger,  so  that 
he  spent  several  hours  each  day  in  his  chair.  When 
Bronson  had  gone,  he  rose  and  moved  restlessly 
about  the  room.  The  day  nurse  cautioned  him. 
"The  Doctor  doesn't  want  you  to  exert  yourself, 
General  Drake." 

He  was  always  courteous,  but  none  the  less  he 
meant  to  have  his  own  way.  "  Don't  worry,  Miss 
Martin.  I'll  take  the  responsibility." 

He  shuffled  out  into  the  hall.  When  she  would 
have  followed,  he  waved  her  back.  "  I  am  per- 
fectly able  to  go  alone,"  he  told  her. 

She  stood  on  the  threshold  watching  him.  She 
was  very  young  and  she  was  a  little  afraid  of 
him.  Her  eyes,  as  she  looked  upon  him,  saw  an 
obstinate  old  man  in  a  gay  dressing  gown.  And 
the  man  in  the  gay  dressing  gown  felt  old  un- 
til he  faced  suddenly  his  wife's  picture  on  the 
stairs. 

It  had  been  weeks  since  he  had  seen  it,  and  in 
those  weeks  much  had  happened.  Her  smiling 
presence  came  to  him  freshly,  as  the  spring  might 
come  to  one  housed  through  a  long  winter,  or  the 
dawn  after  a  dark  night. 

"  Edith  —  ! " 

He  leaned  upon  the  balustrade.  The  nurse,  com- 
ing out,  warned  him.  "  Indeed,  you'd  better  stay 
in  your  room." 

"  I'm  all  right.  Please  don't  worry.  You  'tend 
303 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

to  your  knitting,  and  I'll  take  care  of  myself." 

She  insisted,  however,  on  bringing  out  a  chair 
and  a  rug.  "  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  change  for  you 
to  sit  in  the  hall,"  she  conceded,  and  tucked  him  in, 
and  he  found  himself  trembling  a  little  from  weak- 
ness, and  glad  of  the  support  which  the  chair  gave 
him. 

It  seemed  very  pleasant  to  sit  there  with  Edith 
smiling  at  him.  For  the  first  time  in  many  weeks 
his  mind  was  at  rest.  Ever  since  Hilda  had  come 
he  had  felt  the  pressure  of  an  exciting  presence. 
He  felt  this  morning  free  from  it,  and  glad  to  be 
free. 

What  a  wife  Edith  had  been !  Holding  him  al- 
ways to  his  highest  and  best,  yet  loving  him  even 
when  he  stumbled  and  fell.  Bending  above  him  in 
her  beautiful  charity  and  understanding,  raising 
him  up,  fostering  his  self-respect  in  those  moments 
of  depression  when  he  had  despised  himself. 

What  other  woman  would  have  done  it?  What 
other  woman  would  have  kept  her  love  for  him 
through  it  all?  For  she  had  loved  him.  It  had 
never  been  his  money  with  her.  She  would  have 
clung  to  him  in  sickness  and  in  poverty. 

But  Hilda  loved  his  money.  He  knew  it  now  as 
absolutely  as  if  she  had  said  it.  For  the  first  time 
in  weeks  he  saw  clearly.  Last  night  his  eyes  had 
been  opened. 

He  had  been  roused  towards  morning  by  those 
304 


DERRY'S  WIFE 

soft  sounds  in  the  second  room,  which  he  had  heard 
more  than  once  in  the  passing  weeks.  In  his  fever- 
ish moments,  it  had  not  seemed  unlikely  that  his 
wife  might  be  there,  coming  back  to  haunt,  with  her 
gentle  presence,  the  familiar  rooms.  There  was, 
indeed,  her  light  step,  the  rustle  of  her  silken  gar- 
ments — . 

Half-asleep  he  had  listened,  then  had  opened  his 
eyes  to  find  the  night-lamp  burning,  Hilda's  book 
under  it  and  Hilda  gone ! 

The  minutes  passed  as  still  his  ears  were  strained. 
There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  house  but  that  silken 
rustle.  He  wondered  if  he  sought  Edith  if  she 
would  speak  to  him.  He  rose  and  reached  for  his 
dressing  gown. 

Hilda  had  grown  careless ;  there  was  no  screen  in 
front  of  the  second  door,  and  the  crack  was  wide. 
The  General  standing  in  the  dark  saw  her  be- 
fore his  wife's  mirror,  wearing  his  wife's  jewels, 
wrapped  in  the  cloak  which  his  wife  had  worn  — 
triumphant  —  beautiful ! 

It  was  that  air  of  triumph  which  repelled  him. 
It  was  a  discordant  note  in  the  Cophetua  theme. 
He  had  liked  her  in  her  nurse's  white.  In  the  trap- 
pings which  did  not  belong  to  her  she  showed  her- 
self a  trifle  vulgar  —  less  than  a  lady. 

He  had  crept  back  to  bed,  and  wide-awake,  he  had 
worked  it  all  out  in  his  mind.  It  was  his  money 
which  Hilda  wanted,  the  things  that  he  could  give 
305 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

her;  he  meant  to  her  pink  parasols  and  satin  slip- 
pers, and  diamonds  and  pearls  and  ermines  and 
sables,  and  a  check-book,  with  unlimited  credit 
everywhere. 

And  to  get  the  things  that  she  wanted,  she  had 
given  him  that  which  had  stolen  away  his  brains, 
which  might  indeed  have  done  more  than  that  — 
which  might  have  killed  his  soul. 

He  had  heard  her  come  in,  but  he  had  simulated 
sleep.  She  had  seated  herself  by  the  little  table, 
and  had  gone  on  with  her  book.  Between  his  half- 
closed  eyes  he  had  studied  her  —  seeing  her  with 
new  eyes  —  the  hard  line  of  her  lips,  the  long  white 
hands,  the  heaviness  of  her  chin. 

Then  he  had  slept,  and  had  waked  to  find  the  day 
nurse  on  duty.  He  felt  that  he  should  be  glad 
never  to  see  Hilda  again.  He  dreaded  the  night 
when  he  must  once  more  speak  to  her. 

He  was  very  tired  sitting  there  in  his  chair.  The 
rug  had  slipped  from  his  knees.  He  tried  to  reach 
for  it  and  failed.  But  he  did  not  want  to  call  the 
day  nurse.  He  wanted  some  one  with  him  who  — 
cared.  He  raised  his  poor  old  eyes  to  the  lady  in 
the  picture.  He  was  cold  and  tired. 

He  wished  that  Bronson  would  come  back  — 
good  old  Bronson,  to  pull  up  the  rug.  He  wished 
that  Derry  might  come. 

A  door  below  opened  and  shut.  Some  one  was 
306 


BERRY'S  WIFE 

ascending  the  stairs.  Some  one  who  walked  with 
a  light  step  —  some  one  slim  and  youthful,  in  a 
white  gown  —  ! 

"Edith—  ?" 

But  Edith's  hair  had  not  been  crinkled  and  cop- 
per-colored, and  Edith  would  have  come  straight  up 
to  him;  she  would  not  have  hesitated  on  the  top 
step  as  if  afraid  to  advance. 

"  Who  are  you?  " 

"Jean—" 

"Jean?" 

"  Derry's  wife." 

"  Come  here."  He  tried  to  reach  out  his  hand  to 
her,  but  could  not.  His  tongue  felt  thick  — . 

She  knelt  beside  his  chair.  Her  head  was  bare. 
She  wore  no  wrap.  "  We  were  married  this  morn- 
ing. And  my  own  father  has  gone  —  to  France  — 
and  I  wanted  a  father  — " 

"  Did  Derry  tell  you  to  come?  " 

"Bronson  begged  me.  He  was  at  the  wed- 
ding—" 

"Old  Bronson?"  He  tried  to  smile,  but  the 
smile  was  twisted. 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  fearfully,  but  her 
voice  did  not  falter.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  that 
Derry  loves  you.  He  doesn't  want  your  money, 
oh,  you  know  that  he  doesn't  want  it.  But  he  is 
going  away  to  the  —  war,  and  he  may  be  killed,  so 
many  men  are  —  killed.  And  he  —  loves  you  — " 
307 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Where  is  he?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  let  him  come.  You  see,  you  said 
things  which  were  hard  for  him  to  forgive.  I  was 
afraid  you  might  say  such  things  again." 

He  knew  that  he  would  never  say  them.  "  Tell 
him  that  —  I  love  him."  He  tried  to  sit  up. 
"  Tell  him  that  he  is  —  my  son." 

He  fell  back.  He  heard  her  quick  cry,  "  Bron- 
son  — " 

Bronson  came  running  up  the  stairs,  and  the 
nurse  who  had  watched  the  scene  dazedly  from  the 
threshold  of  the  General's  room  ran,  too. 

Weighted  down  by  a  sense  of  increasing  numb- 
ness he  lifted  his  agonized  eyes  to  Jean.  "  Stay 
with  me  —  stay  — ' 

Hilda,  waked  by  the  day  nurse,  raged.  "  You 
should  have  called  me  at  once  when  he  left  his 
room.  Why  didn't  you  call  me?  " 

"  Because  I  felt  myself  competent  to  manage  the 
case." 

"  You  see  how  you  have  managed  it  —  I  will  be 
down  in  a  minute.  Get  everybody  out  — " 

Her  composed  manner  when  she  came  down 
showed  nothing  of  that  which  was  seething  within 
her. 

She  found  Jean  in  bridal-white  sitting  by  the 

bed  and  holding  the  General's  hand.     The  doctor 

had  been  sent  for,   Derry   had  been   sent   for  — 

things  were  being  swept  out  of  her  hands.     She 

308 


DERRY'S  WIFE 

blamed  it,  still  hiding  her  anger  under  a  quiet  man- 
ner, on  Jean. 

"  He  has  had  a  stroke.  It  was  probably  the  ex- 
citement of  your  coming." 

The  day  nurse  intervened.  "  It  was  before  she 
came,  Miss  Merritt,  that  I  saw  him  reach  for  the 
rug.  I  was  puzzled  and  started  to  investigate,  and 
then  I  saw  her  on  the  stairs — "  She  smiled  at 
Jean.  Never  in  her  limited  young  life  had  the  day 
nurse  seen  such  a  lovely  bride,  and  she  did  not  in 
the  least  like  Miss  Merritt. 

Derry  coming  a  little  later  held  Jean's  hand  in 
his  while  he  faced  Hilda.  "  What  does  the  doctor 
say?" 

The  truth  came  reluctantly.  "He  may  be  un- 
conscious for  days.  He  may  never  wake  up  — " 

"  I  do  not  think  we  shall  need  your  services  — . 
I  will  send  you  a  check  for  any  amount  you  may 
name." 

"  But  — " 

"  Whatever  claim  you  may  have  upon  him  will  be 
settled  when  he  is  in  a  condition  to  settle  anything ; 
until  then,  my  wife  and  I  shall  stay  — " 

Hilda  went  upstairs  and  packed  her  bag.  So 
her  house  of  dreams  tumbled  about  her.  So  she 
left  behind  her  the  tiara  and  the  pearl  collar  with 
the  diamond  slides,  and  the  velvet  cloak  with  the 
ermine  collar.  Poor  Hilda,  with  her  head  held 
high,  going  out  of  the  shadowed  house. 
309 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

And  taking  Hilda's  place,  oh,  more  than  taking 
her  place,  was  Jean  —  and  this  was  her  wedding 
day.  The  little  rose-colored  drawing  room  had 
needed  all  of  its  rose  to  counteract  the  gray  of  the 
world  outside,  with  the  snow  and  Daddy's  car 
standing  ready  to  take  him  to  the  station. 

But  always  there  had  been  the  thought  of  Derry 
to  uphold  her,  and  the  wonder  of  their  love.  Noth- 
ing could  rob  her  of  that. 

He  had  held  her  in  his  arms  the  night  before, 
and  had  said,  "  Tomorrow  we  shall  be  in  Wood- 
stock, and  shall  listen  to  the  chimes  — " 

And  now  it  was  tomorrow,  and  they  were  here  in 
this  great  grim  house  with  Death  at  the  door. 

Quite  miraculously  Emily  arrived,  and  she  and 
Bronson  made  a  boudoir  of  Derry's  sitting-room. 
They  filled  it  with  flowers,  as  was  fitting  for  a 
bridal-bower.  Jean's  little  trunk  had  been  sent  on 
to  Woodstock,  but  there  was  her  bag,  and  a  supply 
of  things  which  Emily  brought  from  home. 

A  new  night  nurse  came,  and  Miss  Martin  was 
retained  for  the  day.  The  snow  still  fell,  and  the 
old  man  in  the  lacquered  bed  was  still  unconscious, 
his  stertorous  breathing  sounding  through  the 
house. 

And  it  was  her  wedding  day ! 

They  dined  in  the  great  room  where  Derry's  an- 
cestors gazed  down  on  them.  Emily  was  there,  and 
it  was  a  bridal  feast,  with  things  ordered  hurriedly. 
31* 


DERRY'S  WIFE 

Bronson,  too,  had  seen  to  that.  But  they  ate  little. 
Emily  talked  and  Derry  ably  supplemented  her 
efforts. 

But  Jean  was  silent.  It  was  all  so  different  from 
what  one  might  expect  —  !  She  still  wore  her 
white  dress.  It  was  a  rather  superlative  frock 
with  much  cobwebby  lace  that  had  been  her 
mother's,  and  in  the  place  of  her  own  small  string 
of  pearls  was  the  longer  string  which  had  been  her 
father's  last  gift  to  her.  She  had  worn  no  veil, 
her  crinkled  copper  hair  in  all  its  beauty  had  been 
uncovered. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  the  lovely,  lovely  lady  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table  is  my  wife,"  Derry  told 
Miss  Emily. 

Jean  smiled  at  him.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
smiling  from  a  great  distance  —  and  she  had  to 
look  at  him  over  a  perfect  thicket  of  orchids. 
"  Shall  I  always  have  to  sit  so  far  away  from  you, 
Derry?  "  she  asked  in  a  very  small  voice. 

"  My  dearest,  no  — "  and  he  came  and  stood  be- 
hind her,  and  reached  for  her  little  coffee  cup  and 
drank  where  her  lips  had  touched,  shamelessly,  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  sympathetic  and  romantic  Miss 
Emily. 

And  now  Emily  had  gone !  And  at  last  Jean  and 
Derry  were  alone  in  the  bridal  bower,  and  Jean  was 
telling  Derry  again  what  his  father  had  said.  "  He 
begged  me  to  stay  — " 

311 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Their  eyes  met.  "  Dearest,  dearest,"  Derry  said, 
"  what  is  life  doing  to  me?  " 

"  It  has  given  you  me,  Derry  " —  such  a  little, 
little  whisper. 

"My  beloved  — yes." 

The  next  morning  they  talked  it  over. 

"What  am  I  to  do?  He  needs  me  more  than 
ever—" 

"  There  must  be  some  way  out,  Derry." 

But  what  way?  The  Tin  Soldier  had  jumped 
from  the  shelf,  but  he  had  fallen  through  a  crack ! 
And  the  war  was  going  on  without  him  —  ! 


312 


CHAPTER  XXII 

JEAN   PLAYS   PROXY 

CHRISTMAS  morning  found  the  General  conscious. 
He  was  restless  until  Jean  was  brought  to  him. 
He  had  a  feeling  that  she  had  saved  him  from 
Hilda.  He  wanted  her  where  he  could  see  her. 
"  Don't  leave  me/'  he  begged. 

She  slipped  away  to  eat  her  Christmas  dinner 
with  Derry  and  Emily  and  Margaret.  It  was  an 
early  dinner  on  account  of  the  children.  They  ate 
in  the  big  dining  room,  and  after  dinner  there  was 
a  tree,  with  Ulrich  Stolle  playing  Father  Christ- 
mas. It  had  come  about  quite  naturally  that  he 
should  be  asked.  It  had  been  unthinkable  that 
Derry  could  enter  into  the  spirit  of  it,  so  Emily 
had  ventured  to  suggest  Ulrich.  "  He  will  make  an 
ideal  Santa  Glaus." 

But  it  developed  that  he  was  not  to  be  Santa 
Claus  at  all.  He  was  to  be  Father  Christmas, 
with  a  wreath  of  mistletoe  instead  of  a  red  cap. 

Teddy  was  intensely  curious  about  the  change. 
"  But  why  isn't  he  Santa  Claus?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  Santa  Claus  was  —  made  in  Germany." 

"  Oh ! " 

313 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  But  now  he  has  joined  the  Allies  and  changed 
his  name." 

"  Oh ! " 

"And  he  wears  mistletoe,  because  mistletoe  is 
the  Christmas  bush,  and  red  caps  don't  really  mean 
anything,  do  they?  " 

"No,  but  Mother—" 

"Yes?" 

"  If  Santa  Glaus  has  joined  the  Allies  what  will 
the  little  German  children  do?  " 

What  indeed? 

Jean  had  trimmed  a  little  tree  for  the  General, 
and  the  children  carried  it  up  to  him  carefully  and 
sang  a  carol  —  having  first  arranged  on  his  table, 
under  the  lamp,  the  purple  camels,  to  create  an 
atmosphere. 

" '  We  three  kings  of  Orient  are, 
Bearing  gifts  we  traverse  far 
Field  and  fountain,  moor  and  mountain, 
Following  yonder  star  — ' " 

"  Yonner  'tar,"  piped  Margaret-Mary. 

"  Yon-der-er  ste-yar,"  trailed  Teddy's  falsetto. 

" '  Oh,  star  of  wonder,  star  of  might, 
Star  with  royal  beauty  bright, 
Westward  leading,  still  proceeding, 
Guide  us  to  the  perfect  light  — '  " 

Twenty-four  hours  ago  Hilda's  book  had  lain 
where  the  purple  camels  now  played  their  little 
314 


JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY 

part  in  the  great  Christmas  drama.  In  the  soul  of 
the  stricken  old  man  on  the  bed  entered  something 
of  the  peace  of  the  holy  season. 

"  Oh,  'tar  of  wonner  — " 

"  Ste-yar  of  wonder-er  — "  chimed  the  little 
voices. 

When  the  song  was  finished,  Margaret-Mary  made 
a  little  curtsey  and  Teddy  made  a  manly  bow,  and 
then  they  took  their  purple  camels  and  left  the 
tree  on  the  table  with  its  one  small  candle  burning. 

The  General  laid  his  left  hand  over  Jean's  —  his 
right  was  useless  —  and  said  to  Berry :  "  Your 
mother's  jewels  are  my  Christmas  gift  to  her.  No 
matter  what  happens,  I  want  her  to  have  them." 

The  evening  waned,  and  the  General  still  held 
Jean's  hand.  Every  bone  in  her  body  ached. 
Never  before  had  she  grown  weary  in  the  service  of 
others.  She  told  herself  as  she  sat  there  that  she 
had  always  been  a  sort  of  sugar-and-spice-and- 
everything-nice  sort  of  person.  It  was  only  fair 
that  she  should  have  her  share  of  hardness. 

The  nurse  begged  her  in  a  whisper  to  leave  the 
General.  "He  won't  know."  But  when  Jean 
moved,  that  poor  left  hand  tightened  on  hers  and 
she  shook  her  head. 

Then  Derry  came  and  sat  with  his  arm  about  her. 
"  My  darling,  you  must  rest." 

She  laid  her  head  against  her  husband's  shoulder, 
315 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

as  he  sat  beside  her.  After  a  while  she  slept,  and 
the  nurse  unlocked  the  clinging  old  fingers,  and 
Deny  carried  his  little  wife  to  bed. 

And  so  Christmas  passed,  and  the  other  days, 
wonderful  days  in  spite  of  the  shadow  which  hung 
over  the  big  house.  For  youth  and  love  laugh  at 
forebodings  and  they  pushed  as  far  back  into  their 
minds  as  possible,  the  thought  of  the  thing  which 
had  to  be  faced. 

But  at  last  Derry  faced  it.  "  It  is  my  self-re- 
spect, Jean." 

They  were  sitting  in  her  room  with  Muffin,  wist- 
ful and  devoted,  on  the  rug  at  Jean's  feet.  The 
old  dog,  having  been  banished  at  first  by  Bron- 
son,  had  viewed  his  master's  wife  with  distrust. 
Gradually  she  had  won  him  over,  so  that  now,  when 
she  was  not  in  the  room,  he  hunted  up  a  shoe  or  a 
glove,  and  sat  with  it  until  she  came  back. 

"  It  is  my  self-respect,  Jean-Joan." 

She  admitted  that.     "  But  —  ?  " 

"  I  can't  stay  out  of  the  fighting  and  call  myself 
a  man.  It  has  come  to  that  with  me." 

She  knew  that  it  had  come  to  that.  She  had 
thought  a  great  deal  about  it.  She  lay  awake  at 
night  thinking  about  it.  She  thought  of  it  as  she 
sat  by  the  General's  bed,  day  after  day,  holding  his 
hand. 

The  doctor's  report  had  been  cautious,  but  it  had 
amounted  to  this  —  the  General  might  live  to  a 
316 


JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY 

green  old  age,  some  men  rallied  remarkably  after 
such  a  shock.  He  rather  thought  the  General  might 
rally,  but  then  again  he  might  not,  and  anyhow  he 
would  be  tied  for  months,  perhaps  for  years,  to  his 
chair. 

The  old  man  was  giving  to  his  daughter-in-law  an 
affection  compounded  of  that  which  he  had  given  to 
his  wife  and  to  his  son.  It  was  as  if  in  coming  up 
the  stairs  in  her  white  gown  on  her  wedding  day, 
Jean  had  brought  a  bit  of  Edith  back  to  him.  For 
deep  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  without  her,  Derry 
would  not  have  come. 

So  he  clung  pathetically  to  that  little  hand, 
which  seemed  the  only  anchor  in  his  sea  of  loneli- 
ness. Pathetically  his  old  eyes  begged  her  to  stay. 
"  You  won't  leave  me,  Jean?  "  And  she  would 
promise,  and  sit  day  after  day  and  late  into  the 
night,  holding  his  hand. 

And  as  she  sat  with  him,  there  grew  up  gradually 
within  her  a  conviction  which  strengthened  as  the 
days  went  by.  She  could  tell  the  very  moment 
when  she  had  first  thought  of  it.  She  had  left  the 
General  with  Bronson  while  she  went  to  dress  for 
dinner.  Derry  wras  waiting  for  her,  and  usually 
she  would  have  flown  to  him,  glad  of  the  moment 
when  they  might  be  together.  But  something 
halted  her  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  It  was  as  if  a 
hand  had  been  put  in  front  of  her,  barring  the  way. 

The  painted  lady  was  looking  at  her  with  smiling 
317 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

eyes,  but  back  of  the  eyes  she  seemed  to  discern  a 
wistful  appeal  — "  I  want  you  to  stay.  No  matter 
what  happens  I  beg  that  you  will  stay." 

But  Jean  didn't  want  to  stay.  All  the  youth  in 
her  rebelled  against  the  thing  that  she  saw  ahead 
of  her.  She  yearned  to  be  free  —  to  live  and  love 
as  she  pleased,  not  a  prisoner  in  that  shadowed 
room. 

So  she  pushed  it  away  from  her,  and  so  there  came 
one  morning  a  letter  from  her  father. 

"  Drusilla  went  over  on  the  same  boat.  It  was  a 
surprising  thing  to  find  her  there.  Since  I  landed, 
I  haven't  seen  her.  But  I  met  Captain  Hewes  in 
Paris,  and  he  was  looking  for  her. 

"  I  had  never  known  how  fine  she  was  until  those 
days  on  the  boat.  It  was  wonderful  on  the  nights 
when  everything  was  darkened  and  we  were  feeling 
our  way  through  the  danger  zone,  to  have  her  sing 
for  us.  I  believe  we  should  all  have  gone  to  the 
bottom  singing  with  her  if  a  submarine  had  sunk  us. 

"  I  am  finding  myself  busier  than  I  have  ever  been 
before,  finding  myself,  indeed,  facing  the  most  stu- 
pendous thing  in  the  world.  It  isn't  the  wounded 
men  or  the  dead  men  or  the  heart-breaking  aspect 
of  the  refugees  that  gets  me,  it  is  the  sight  of  the 
devastated  country  —  made  barren  and  blackened 
into  hell  not  by  devils,  but  by  those  who  have  called 
themselves  men.  When  I  think  of  our  own  coun- 
try, ready  soon  to  bud  and  bloom  with  the  spring, 
and  of  this  country  where  spring  will  come  and  go, 
oh,  many  springs,  before  there  will  be  bud  and 
bloom,  I  am  overwhelmed  by  the  tragic  contrast. 
318 


JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY 

How  can  we  laugh  over  there  when  they  are  crying 
here?  Perhaps  more  than  anything  else,  the  dif- 
ference in  conditions  was  brought  home  to  me  as  I 
motored  the  other  day  through  a  country  where 
there  was  absolutely  no  sign  of  life,  not  a  tree  or  a 
bird  —  except  those  war  birds,  the  aeroplanes,  hov- 
ering above  the  horizon. 

"  Well,  as  we  stopped  our  car  for  some  slight  re- 
pairs, there  rose  up  from  a  deserted  trench,  a  lean 
cat  with  a  kitten  in  her  mouth.  Oh,  such  a  starved 
old  cat,  Jean,  gray  and  war-worn.  And  her  kitten 
was  little  and  blind,  and  when  she  had  laid  it  at 
our  feet,  she  went  back  and  got  another.  Then  she 
stood  over  them,  mewing,  her  eyes  big  and  hungry. 
But  she  was  not  afraid  of  us,  or  if  she  was  afraid, 
she  stood  her  ground,  asking  help  for  those  help- 
less babies. 

"  Jean,  I  thought  of  Polly  Ann.  Of  all  the  petted 
Polly  Anus  in  America,  and  then  of  this  starved 
old  thing,  and  they  seemed  so  typical.  You  are 
playing  the  glad  game  over  there,  and  it  is  easy  to 
play  it  with  enough  to  eat  and  plenty  to  wear,  and 
away  from  the  horror  of  it  all.  But  how  could  that 
old  pussy-cat  be  glad,  how  could  she  be  anything 
but  frightened  and  hungry  and  begging  my  help? 

"  Well,  we  took  her  in.  We  had  some  food  with 
us,  and  we  gave  her  all  she  could  eat,  and  then  she 
curled  up  on  a  pile  of  bags  in  the  bottom  of  the  car, 
and  lay  there  with  her  kittens,  as  happy  as  if  we 
were  not  going  lickety-split  over  the  shell-torn 
spaces. 

"  And  that  your  tender  heart  may  be  at  rest,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  that  she  and  the  kittens 
are  living  in  great  content  in  a  country  house  where 
319 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

one  of  the  officers  who  was  in  the  car  with  us  is  in- 
stalled. We  have  named  her  Dolores,  but  it  is 
ceasing  to  be  appropriate.  She  is  no  longer  sad, 
and  while  she  is  on  somewhat  slim  fare  like  the  rest 
of  us,  she  is  a  great  hunter  and  catches  mice  in  the 
barn,  so  that  she  is  growing  strong  and  smooth,  and 
she  is  not,  perhaps,  to  be  pitied  as  much  as  Polly 
Ann  on  her  pink  cushion. 

"  And  here  I  am  writing  about  cats,  while  the 
only  thing  that  is  really  in  my  heart  is  —  You. 

"  Ever  since  the  moment  I  left  you,  I  have  carried 
with  me  the  vision  of  you  in  your  wedding  gown  — 
my  dear,  my  dear.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that 
I  left  when  I  did,  for  I  am  most  inordinately  jealous 
of  Derry,  not  only  because  he  has  you,  but  because 
he  has  love  and  life  before  him,  while  I,  already,  am 
looking  back. 

"  My  work  here  is,  as  you  would  say, '  wonderful.' 
How  I  should  like  to  hear  you  say  it !  There  are 
things  which  in  all  my  years  of  practice,  I  have 
never  met  before.  How  could  I  meet  them?  It 
has  taken  this  generation  of  doctors  to  wrestle  with 
the  problem  of  treating  men  tortured  by  gas,  and 
with  nerves  shaken  by  sights  and  sounds  without 
parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  of  it.  I  would 
rather  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you  and  miss  you, 
and  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are  not  here  to  see  it 
all.  Yet  I  would  have  all  Americans  think  of  those 
who  are  here,  and  I  would  have  you  help  until  it  — 
hurts.  You  must  know,  my  Jean,  how  moved  I  am 
by  it,  when  I  ask  you,  whom  I  have  always  shielded, 
to  give  help  until  it  hurts  — 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Hilda.  She  wants  to 
320 


JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY 

come  over.  I  haven't  answered  the  letter.  But 
when  I  do,  I  shall  tell  her  that  there  may  be  some- 
thing that  she  can  do,  but  it  will  not  be  with  me. 
I  need  women  who  can  see  the  pathos  of  such  things 
as  that  starved  cat  and  kittens  out  there  among  the 
shell-holes,  and  Hilda  would  never  have  seen  it. 
She  would  have  left  the  cat  to  starve." 

Jean  found  herself  crying  over  the  letter.  "  I  am 
not  helping  at  all,  Derry." 

"  My  dear,  you  are." 

"  I  am  not.  I  am  just  sitting  on  a  pink  cushion, 
like  Polly  Ann  — " 

It  was  the  first  flash  he  had  seen  for  days  of  her 
girlish  petulance.  He  smiled.  "  That  sounds  like 
the  Jean  of  yesterday." 

"  Did  you  like  the  Jean  of  yesterday  better  than 
the  Jean  of  to-day?" 

"  There  is  only  one  Jean  for  me  —  yesterday,  to- 
day and  forever." 

She  stood  a  little  away  from  him.  "  Derry,  I've 
been  thinking  and  thinking — " 

He  put  a  finger  under  her  chin  and  turned  her 
face  up  to  him.  "  What  have  you  been  thinking, 
Jean- Joan?" 

"  That  you  must  go  —  and  I  will  take  care  of 
your  father." 

"You?" 

"Yes.     Why  not,  Derry?" 

"  I  won't  have  you  sacrificed." 
321 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  But  you  want  me  to  be  brave." 

"  Yes.  But  not  burdened.  I  won't  have  it,  my 
dear." 

"  But  —  you  promised  your  mother.  I  am  sure 
she  would  be  glad  to  let  me  keep  your  promise/' 

She  was  brave  now.     Braver  than  he  knew. 

"I  can't  see  it,"  he  said,  fiercely.  "I  can  see 
myself  leaving  you  with  Emily,  in  your  own  house 
—  to  live  your  own  life.  But  not  to  sit  in  Dad's 
room,  day  after  day,  sacrificing  your  youth  as  I 
sacrificed  my  childhood  and  boyhood  —  my  man- 
hood — .  I  am  over  thirty,  Jean,  and  I  have  always 
been  treated  like  a  boy.  It  isn't  right,  Jean;  our 
lives  are  our  own,  not  his." 

"  It  is  right.  Nobody's  life  seems  to  be  his  own 
in  these  days.  And  you  must  go  —  and  I  can't 
leave  him.  He  is  so  old,  and  helpless,  Derry,  like 
the  poor  pussy-cat  over  there  in  France.  His  eyes 
are  like  that  —  hungry,  and  they  beg  — .  And  oh, 
Derry,  I  mustn't  be  like  Polly  Ann,  on  a  pink 
cushion — ." 

She  tried  to  laugh  and  broke  down.  He  caught 
her  up  in  his  arms.  Light  as  thistledown,  young 
and  lovely ! 

She  sobbed  on  his  heart,  but  she  held  to  her 
high  resolve.  He  must  go  —  and  she  would  stay. 
And  at  last  he  gave  in. 

He  had  loved  her  dearly,  but  he  had  not  looked 
for  this,  that  she  would  give  herself  to  hardness  for 
322 


JEAN  PLAYS  PROXY 

the  sake  of  another.  For  the  first  time  he  saw  in 
his  little  wife  something  of  the  heroic  quality  which 
had  seemed  to  set  his  mother  apart  and  above,  as  it 
were,  all  other  women. 


323 


BOOK  THREE 
The  Bugle  Calls 

The  wooden  trumpeters  that  were  carved  on  the  door  blew 
with  all  their  might,  so  that  their  cheeks  were  much  larger 
than  before.  Yes,  they  blew  "  Trutter-a-trutt  —  trutter-a- 
trutt— "  .  , 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  EMPTY   HOUSE 

JEAN'S  world  was  no  longer  wonderful  —  not  in 
the  sense  that  it  had  once  been,  with  all  the  glamour 
of  girlish  dreams  and  of  youthful  visions. 

She  had  never  thought  of  life  as  a  thing  like  this 
in  the  days  when  she  had  danced  down  to  the  con- 
fectioner's, intent  on  good  times. 

But  now,  with  her  father  away,  with  Derry  away, 
with  the  city  frozen  and  white,  and  with  not 
enough  coal  to  go  around,  with  many  of  the  rooms 
in  the  house  shut  that  fuel  might  be  conserved,  with 
Margaret  and  the  children  and  Nurse  installed  as 
guests  at  the  General's  until  the  weather  grew 
warmer,  with  Emily  transforming  her  Toy  Shop 
into  a  surgical  dressings  station,  and  with  her 
father-in-law  turning  over  to  her  incredible  amounts 
of  money  for  the  Red  Cross  and  Liberty  Bonds  and 
War  Stamps,  life  began  to  take  on  new  aspects  of 
responsibility  and  seriousness. 

She  could  never  have  kept  her  balance  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  if  Derry  had  not  written  every  day. 
Her  father  wrote  every  day,  also,  but  there  were 
long  intervals  between  his  letters,  and  then  they 
were  apt  to  arrive  all  at  once,  a  great  packet  of 
them,  to  be  read  and  re-read  and  passed  around. 
327 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

But  Berry's  letters,  brought  to  her  room  every 
morning  by  Bronson,  contained  the  elixir  which 
sent  her  to  her  day's  work  with  shining  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks.  Sometimes  she  read  bits  of  them  to 
Bronson.  Sometimes,  indeed,  there  were  only  a 
few  lines  for  herself,  for  Derry  was  being  inten- 
sively trained  in  a  Southern  camp,  working  like  an 
ant,  with  innumerable  other  ants,  all  in  olive-drab, 
with  different  colored  cords  around  their  hats. 

Sometimes  she  read  bits  of  the  letters  to  Margaret 
at  breakfast,  and  after  breakfast  she  would  go  up 
to  the  General  and  read  everything  to  him  except 
the  precious  words  which  Derry  had  meant  for  her 
very  own  self. 

And  then  she  and  the  General  would  tell  each 
other  how  really  extraordinary  Derry  was ! 

It  was  a  never-failing  subject,  of  intense  interest 
to  both  of  them.  For  there  was  always  this  to  re- 
member, that  if  the  world  was  no  longer  a  radiant 
and  shining  world,  if  the  day's  task  was  hard,  and 
if  now  and  then  in  the  middle  of  the  night  she  wept 
tears  of  loneliness,  if  there  were  heavy  things  to 
bear,  and  hard  things  and  sad  things,  one  fact 
shone  brilliantly  above  all  others,  Derry  was  as 
wonderful  as  ever ! 

"  There  was  never  such  a  boy,"  the  General  would 
chant  in  his  deep  bass. 

"  Never,"  Jean  would  pipe  in  her  clear  treble. 

And  when  they  had  chorused  thus  for  a  while,  the 
328 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

General  would  dictate  a  letter  to  Derry,  for  his 
hand  was  shaky,  and  Jean  would  write  it  out  for 
him,  and  then  she  would  write  a  letter  of  her  own, 
and  after  that  the  day  was  blank,  and  the  night 
until  the  next  morning  when  another  letter  came. 
So  she  lived  from  letter  to  letter. 

"  You  have  never  seen  Washington  like  this,"  she 
wrote  one  day  in  February,  "  we  keep  only  a  little 
fire  in  the  furnace,  and  I  am  wearing  flannels  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life.  We  dine  in  sweaters,  and 
the  children  are  round  and  rosy  in  the  cold.  And 
the  food  steams  in  the  icy  air  of  the  dining  room, 
and  you  can't  imagine  how  different  it  all  is  — 
with  the  servants  bundled  up  like  the  rest  of  us. 
We  keep  your  father  warm  by  burning  wood  in  the 
fireplace  of  his  room,  and  we  have  given  half  the 
coal  in  the  cellar  to  people  who  haven't  any." 

"  I  am  helping  Cook  with  the  conservation  menus, 
and  it  is  funny  to  see  how  topsy-turvy  everything 
is.  It  is  perfectly  patriotic  to  eat  mushrooms  and 
lobsters  and  squabs  and  ducklings,  and  it  is  un- 
patriotic to  serve  sausages  and  wheat  cakes.  And 
Cook  can't  get  adjusted  to  it.  She  will  insist  upon 
bacon  for  breakfast,  because  well-regulated  families 
since  the  Flood  have  eaten  bacon  —  and  she  feels 
that  in  some  way  we  are  sacrificing  self-respect  or 
our  social  status  when  we  refrain. 

"  Your  father  is  such  an  old  dear,  Derry.  He  has 
war  bread  and  milk  for  lunch,  and  I  carry  it  to 
him  myself  in  the  pretty  old  porcelain  bowl  that  he 
likes  so  much. 

"  It  was  one  day  when  I  brought  the  milk  that  he 
spoke  of  Hilda.     '  Where  is  she? ' 
329 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  I  told  him  that  she  was  still  in  town,  and  that 
you  had  given  her  a  check  which  would  carry  her 
over  a  year  or  two,  and  he  said  that  he  was  glad  — 
that  he  should  not  like  to  see  her  suffer.  The  porce- 
lain bowl  had  reminded  him  of  her.  She  had  asked 
him  once  what  it  cost,  and  after  she  had  found  out, 
she  had  never  used  it.  She  evidently  stood  quite 
in  awe  of  anything  so  expensive. 

"  Your  mother  and  I  are  getting  to  be  very  good 
friends,  dearest.  When  I  am  dreadfully  homesick 
for  you,  I  go  and  sit  on  the  stairs,  and  she  smiles  at 
me.  It  is  terribly  cold  in  the  hall,  and  I  wrap  my- 
self up  in  your  fur  coat,  and  it  is  almost  like  having 
your  arms  around  me." 

She  was  surely  making  the  best  of  things,  this 
little  Jean,  when  she  found  comfort  in  being  moth- 
ered by  a  painted  lady  on  the  stairs,  and  in  being 
embraced  by  a  fur  coat  which  had  once  been  worn 
by  her  husband! 

She  kept  Derry's  tin  soldier,  which  Drusilla  had 
given  him,  on  her  desk.  "  You  shall  have  him  when 
you  go  to  France,  but  until  then  he  is  a  good  little 
comrade,  and  I  say  '  Good-morning '  to  him  and 
'  Good-night.'  Yet  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  he 
likes  it  there  on  the  shelf,  and  whether  he  is  crying, 
'  I  want  to  go  to  the  wars  — '  " 

She  was  very  busy  every  morning  in  Emily's 

room,    working   on   the   surgical    dressings.     She 

hated  it  all.     She  hated  the  oakum  and  the  gauze, 

the   cotton   and   the   compresses,   the   pneumonia 

330 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

jackets  and  the  split-irrigation  pads,  the  wipes,  the 
triangulars,  the  many-tailed  and  the  scultetus. 
Other  women  might  speak  lightly  of  five-yard  rolls 
as  dressing  for  stumps,  of  paper-backs  "  used  in 
the  treatment  of  large  suppurating  wounds."  Jean 
shivered  and  turned  white  at  these  things.  Her 
vivid  imagination  went  beyond  the  little  work-room 
with  its  white-veiled  women  to  those  hospitals  back 
of  the  battle  line  where  mutilated  men  lay  waiting 
for  the  compresses  and  the  wipes  and  the  bandages, 
men  in  awful  agony  — . 

But  the  lesson  she  was  learning  was  that  of 
harnessing  her  emotions  to  the  day's  work;  and  if 
her  world  was  no  longer  wonderful  in  a  care-free 
sense,  it  was  a  rather  splendid  world  of  unselfish- 
ness arid  self-sacrifice,  although  she  was  not  con- 
scious of  this,  but  felt  it  vaguely. 

She  wore  now,  most  of  the  time,  her  nun's  frock 
of  gray,  which  had  seemed  to  foreshadow  some- 
thing of  her  future  on  that  glorified  day  when 
Derry  had  first  come  to  her.  She  had  laid  away 
many  of  her  lovely  things,  and  one  morning  Teddy 
remarked  on  the  change. 

"  You  don't  dwess  up  any  more." 

Nurse  stood  back  of  his  chair.     "  Dress  — " 

"  Dur-wess." 

"  Don't  you  like  this  dress,  Teddy?  " 

"  I  liked  the  boo  one." 

"Blue—" 

331 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"Ble-yew,  an'  the  pink  one,  and  all  the  shiny 
ones  you  used  to  wear  at  night." 

"  Blue  dresses  and  pink  dresses  and  shiny  dresses 
cost  a  lot  of  money,  Teddy,  and  I  shouldn't  have 
any  money  left  for  Thrift  Stamps/' 

Thrift  stamps  were  a  language  understood  by 
Teddy,  as  he  would  not  have  understood  the  larger 
transactions  of  Liberty  Bonds.  He  and  the  General 
held  long  conversations  as  to  the  best  means  of  ob- 
taining a  large  supply  of  stamps,  and  the  General 
having  listened  to  Margaret  who  wanted  the  boy  to 
work  for  his  offering,  suggested  an  entrancing  plan. 
Teddy  was  to  feed  the  fishes  in  the  dining-room 
aquarium,  he  was  to  feed  Muffin,  and  he  was  to  feed 
Polly  Ann. 

.  It  sounded  simple,  but  there  were  difficulties. 
In  the  first  place  he  had  to  face  Cook,  and  Cook 
hated  to  have  children  in  the  kitchen. 

"  But  you'd  have  to  face  more  than  that  if  you 
were  grown  up  and  in  the  trenches.  And  Hodgson 
is  really  very  kind." 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  look  kind,  Mother." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  smile,  and  her  face  is  wed." 

"  Red,  dear." 

"  Ur-ed  — .  And  when  I  ask  her  for  milk  for 
Polly,  she  says  '  Milk  for  cats,'  and  when  she  gets  it 
out,  she  slams  the  'frigerator  door." 

"  Refrigerator,  dear." 

332 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

"  Rif-iggerator." 

But  in  the  main  Teddy  went  to  Ms  task  val- 
iantly. He  conserved  bones  for  Muffin  and  left-over 
corn-meal  cakes.  Polly  Ann  dined  rather  monot- 
onously on  fish  boiled  with  war-bread  crusts,  on  the 
back  of  Cook's  big  range.  Hodgson  was  conscien- 
tious and  salted  it  and  cooled  it,  and  kept  it  in  a 
little  covered  granite  pail,  and  it  was  from  this  pail 
that  Teddy  ladled  stew  into  Polly  Ann's  blue  saucer. 
"  Mother  says  it  is  very  good  of  you,  Hodgson,  to 
take  so  much  trouble." 

Hodgson,  whose  face  was  redder  than  ever,  as  she 
broiled  mushrooms  for  lunch,  grunted,  "  I'd  rather 
do  it  than  have  other  people  messin'  around." 

Teddy  surveyed  her  anxiously.  "  You  don't  mind 
having  me  here,  do  you,  Hodgson?  " 

His  cheeks  were  rosy,  his  bronze  hair  bright,  his 
sturdy  legs  planted  a  trifle  apart,  Polly's  dish  in  one 
hand,  the  big  spoon  in  the  other.  "No,  I  don't 
mind,"  she  admitted,  but  it  was  some  time  before 
she  acknowledged  even  to  herself  how  glad  she  was 
when  that  bright  figure  appeared. 

Feeding  the  fishes  presented  few  problems,  and 
gradually  thrift  stamps  filled  the  little  book,  and 
there  was  a  war  stamp,  and  more  thrift  stamps  and 
more  war  stamps,  and  Muffin  and  Polly  Ann  waxed 
fat  and  friendly,  and  were  a  very  lion  and  lamb  for 
lying  down  together. 

Then  there  came  a  day  when  Teddy,  feeding  the 
333 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

fishes  in  the  aquarium,  heard  somebody  say  that 
Hodgson's  son  was  in  the  war. 

He  went  at  once  to  the  kitchen.  "  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me?  "  he  asked  the  cook,  standing  in  front 
of  her  where  she  sat  cutting  chives  and  peppers  and 
celery  on  a  little  board  for  salad. 

"  Tell  you  what?  " 

"  That  your  boy  was  in  Fwance." 

Hodgson's  red  face  grew  redder,  and  to  Teddy's 
consternation,  a  tear  ran  down  her  cheek. 

He  stood  staring  at  her,  then  flew  upstairs  to  his 
mother.  "  Cook's  cryin'." 

"Teddy—" 

"  She  is.     Because  her  son  is  in  Fwance." 

After  that  when  he  went  down  to  get  things  for 
Muffin  and  Polly  Ann,  he  said  how  s'prised  he  was 
and  how  nice  it  was  now  that  he  knew,  and  wasn't 
she  pr-roud?  And  he  fancied  that  Hodgson  was 
kinder  and  softer.  She  told  him  the  name  of  her 
son.  It  was  Charley,  and  she  and  Teddy  talked  a 
great  deal  about  Charley,  and  Teddy  sent  him  some 
chocolate,  and  Hodgson  told  Margaret.  "  He's  a 
lovely  boy,  Mrs.  Morgan.  May  you  never  raise  him 
to  fight." 

"  I  should  want  him  to  be  as  brave  as  his  father, 
Hodgson." 

"  Yes.  My  boy's  brave,  but  it  was  hard  to  let 
him  go."  Then,  struck  by  the  look  on  Margaret's 
face,  she  said,  "  Forgive  me,  ma'am ;  if  mine  is  taken 
334 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

from  me,  I'd  like  to  feel  as  you  do.     You  ain't 
makin'  other  people  unhappy  over  it." 

"  I  think  it  is  because  my  husband  still  lives  for 
me,  Hodgson." 

Hodgson  cried  into  her  apron.  "  It  ain't  all  of 
us  that  has  your  faith.  But  if  I  loses  him,  I'll  do 
my  best." 

And  so  the  painted  lady  on  the  stairs  saw  all  the 
sinister  things  that  Hilda  had  brought  into  the  big 
house  swept  out  of  it.  She  saw  Hodgson  the  cook 
trying  to  be  brave,  and  bringing  up  Margaret's  tea 
in  the  afternoons  for  the  sake  of  the  moment  when 
she  might  speak  of  her  boy  to  one  who  would  under- 
stand; she  saw  Emily,  coming  home  dead  tired 
after  a  hard  day's  work,  but  with  her  face  illumined. 
She  saw  Margaret  smiling,  with  tears  in  her  heart, 
she  saw  Jean  putting  aside  childish  things  to  be- 
come one  of  the  women  that  the  world  needed. 

Brave  women  all  of  them,  women  with  a  vision, 
women  raised  to  heroic  heights  by  the  need  of  the 
hour! 

The  men,  too,  were  heroic.  Indeed,  the  General, 
trying  to  control  his  appetite,  was  almost  pathetic- 
ally heroic.  He  had  given  up  sugar,  although  he 
hated  his  coffee  without  it,  and  he  had  a  little  boy's 
appetite  for  pies  and  cakes. 

"  When  the  war  is  over,"  he  told  Teddy,  "  we  will 
order  a  cake  that's  as  high  as  a  house,  and  we  will 
eat  it  together." 

335 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Teddy  giggled.     "  With  f  rostin'  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  remember  when  Derry  was  a  lad  that 
we  used  to  tell  him  the  story  of  the  people  who 
baked  a  cake  so  big  that  they  had  to  climb  ladders 
to  reach  the  top.  Well,  that's  the  kind  of  cake 
we'll  have." 

Yet  while  he  made  a  joke  of  it,  he  confessed  to 
Jean.  "It  is  harder  than  fighting  battles.  I'd 
rather  face  a  gun  than  deny  myself  the  things  that 
I  like  to  eat  and  drink." 

Bronson  was  contributing  to  the  Ked  Cross  and 
buying  Liberty  Bonds,  and  that  was  brave  of  Bron- 
son. For  Bronson  was  close,  and  the  hardest  thing 
that  he  had  to  do  was  to  part  with  his  money,  or  to 
take  less  interest  than  his  rather  canny  investments 
had  made  possible. 

And  Teddy,  the  man  of  his  family,  came  one  morn- 
ing to  his  mother.  "  I've  just  got  to  do  it,"  he  said 
in  a  rather  shaky  voice. 

"  Do  what,  dear?  " 

"  Send  my  books  to  the  soldiers." 

She  let  him  do  it,  although  she  knew  how  it  tore 
his  heart.  You  see,  there  were  the  Jungle  Books, 
which  he  knew  the  soldiers  would  like,  and  "  Treas- 
ure Island,"  and  "  The  Swiss  Family  Kobinson," 
and  "Huckleberry  Finn."  He  brought  his  fairy 
books,  too,  and  laid  them  on  the  altar  of  patriotism, 
and  "Toby  Tyler,"  which  had  been  his  father's, 
and  "  Under  the  Lilacs,"  which  he  adored  because 
336 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

of  little  brown-faced  Ben  and  his  dog,  Sancho. 

He  was  rapturously  content  when  his  mother  de- 
cided that  the  fairy  books  and  Toby  and  brown- 
faced  Ben  might  still  be  his  companions.  "  You 
see  the  soldiers  are  men,  dear,  and  they  probably 
read  these  when  they  were  little  boys." 

"But  won't  I  wead  them  when  I  grow  up, 
Mother?  " 

"  You  may  want  to  read  older  books." 

But  Teddy  was  secretly  resolved  that  age  should 
not  wither  nor  custom  stale  the  charms  of  the  be- 
loved volumes.  And  that  he  should  love  them  to 
the  end.  His  mother  thought  that  he  might  grow 
tired  of  them  some  day  and  told  him  so. 

"I  can  wead  them  to  my  little  boys,"  he  said, 
hopefully,  "  and  to  their  little  boys  after  that,"  and 
having  thus  established  a  long  line  of  prospective 
worshippers  of  his  own  special  gods,  he  turned  to 
other  things. 

General  Drake,  growing  gradually  better,  went 
now  and  then  in  his  warm  closed  car  for  a  ride 
through  the  Park.  Usually  Jean  was  with  him,  or 
Bronson,  and  now  and  then  Nurse  with  the  children. 

It  was  one  morning  when  the  children  were  with 
him  that  he  said  to  Nurse:  " Take  them  into  the 
Lion  House  for  a  half  hour.  I'll  drive  around  and 
come  back  for  you." 

Nurse  demurred.  "  You  are  sure  that  you  won't 
mind  being  left,  sir  ?  " 

337 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Why  not?  "  sharply.  "  I  am  perfectly  able  to 
take  care  of  myself." 

He  watched  them  go  in,  then  he  gave  orders  to 
drive  at  once  to  the  Connecticut  Avenue  entrance. 

A  woman  stood  by  the  gate,  a  tall  woman  in  a 
long  blue  cloak  and  a  close  blue  bonnet.  In  the 
clear  cold,  her  coloring  showed  vivid  pink  and 
white.  The  General  spoke  through  the  tube;  the 
chauffeur  descended  and  opened  the  door. 

"If  you  will  get  in,"  the  General  said  to  the 
woman,  "  you  can  tell  me  what  you  have  to  say  — " 

"  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  asked  it,"  Hilda 
said,  hesitating,  "but  I  had  seen  you  riding  in  the 
Park,  and  I  thought  of  this  way  —  I  couldn't,  of 
course,  come  to  the  house." 

"No."  He  had  sunk  down  among  his  robes. 
"  No." 

"  I  felt  that  perhaps  you  had  been  led  to  —  mis- 
understand." She  came  directly  to  the  point.  "  I 
wanted  to  know  —  what  I  had  done  —  what  had 
made  the  difference.  I  couldn't  believe  that  you 
had  not  meant  what  you  said." 

He  stirred  uneasily.     "  I  have  been  very  ill  — " 

Her  long  white  hands  were  ungloved,  the  dia- 
monds that  he  had  given  her  sparkled  as  she  drew 
the  ring  off  slowly.  "  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  give  you 
this  —  if  it  was  all  really  over." 

"  It  is  all  over.     But  keep  it  —  please." 

"  I  should  like  to  keep  it,"  she  admitted  frankly, 
338 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

"  because,  you  see,  I've  never  had  a  ring  like  this." 

It  was  the  Cophetua  and  Beggar  Maid  motif  but 
it  left  him  cold.  "  Hilda,"  he  said,  "  I  saw  you  that 
night  trying  on  my  wife's  jewels.  That  was  my 
reason." 

She  was  plainly  disconcerted.  "  But  that  was 
child's  play.  I  had  never  had  anything  —  it  was 
like  a  child  —  dressing  up." 

"  It  was  not  like  that  to  me.  I  think  I  had  been 
a  rather  fatuous  fool  —  thinking  that  there  might 
be  in  me  something  that  you  might  care  for.  But  I 
knew  then  that  without  my  money  —  you  wouldn't 
care  — " 

"  People's  motives  are  always  mixed,"  she  told 
him.  "  You  know  that." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  You  liked  me  because  I  was  young  and  made 
you  feel  young.  I  liked  you  because  you  could  give 
me  things." 

"  Yes.  But  now  the  glamour  is  gone.  You  make 
me  feel  a  thousand  years  old,  Hilda." 

"  Why?  "  in  great  surprise. 

"  Because  I  know  that  if  I  had  no  wealth  to  offer 
you,  you  would  see  me  for  what  I  am,  an  aged 
broken  creature  for  whom  you  have  no  tender- 
ness — " 

It  was  time  for  him  to  be  getting  back  to  the 
Lion  House.  They  stopped  again  at  the  gate.  "  If 
you  will  keep  the  ring,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to 
339 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

think  that  you  have  it.  Jean  says  Berry  gave  you 
a  check.  If  it  is  not  enough  to  buy  pink  parasols, 
will  you  let  me  give  you  another?  "  He  was  speak- 
ing with  the  ease  of  his  accustomed  manner. 

"  No ;  I  am  not  an  —  adventuress,  though  you 
seem  to  think  that  I  am,  and  to  condemn  me  for  it." 

"  I  condemn  you  only  for  one  thing  —  for  that 
flat  bottle  behind  the  books.'' 

"  But  you  wanted  it." 

"  For  that  reason  you  should  have  kept  it  away. 
You  should  have  obeyed  orders." 

"  You  asked  me  to  doff  my  cap,  so  I  —  doffed  my 
discipline."  She  was  standing  on  the  ground,  hold- 
ing the  door  open  as  she  talked ;  again  he  was  aware 
of  the  charm  of  her  pink  and  white. 

"  Good-bye,  Hilda."  He  reached  out  his  hand  to 
her. 

She  took  it.     "  I  am  going  to  France." 

"When?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can."  She  stepped  back  and  the 
door  was  shut  between  them.  As  the  car  turned, 
Hilda  waved  her  hand,  and  the  General  had  a  sense 
of  sudden  keen  regret  as  the  tall  cloaked  figure  with 
its  look  of  youth  and  resoluteness  faded  into  the 
distance. 

When  he  reached  the  Lion  House  the  children 
were  waiting.  "Did  you  hear  him  roar?"  Teddy 
asked  as  he  climbed  in. 

«  No." 

340 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

"  Well,  he  did,  and  we  came  out  'cause  it  fwight- 
ened  Peggy." 

"  Frightened  — "  from  Nurse. 

"  Fr-ightened.     But  I  liked  the  leopards  best." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  they're  pre-itty." 

"  You  can't  always  trust  —  pretty  things." 

"Can't  you  tre-ust  —  leopards  —  General 
Drake?  " 

The  General  was  not  sure,  and  presently  he  fell 
into  silence.  His  mind  was  on  a  pretty  woman 
whom  he  could  not  trust. 

That  night  he  said  to  Jean,  "  Hilda  is  going  to 
France." 

"  Oh  —  how  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  met  her  in  the  Park." 

He  was  sitting,  very  tired,  in  his  big  chair. 
Jean's  little  hand  was  in  his. 

"  Poor  Hilda,"  he  said  at  last,  looking  into  the 
fire,  as  if  he  saw  there  the  vision  of  his  lost  dreams. 

"  Oh,  no  — "  Jean  protested. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  there  is  so  much  that  is  good  in 
the  worst  of  us,  and  so  much  that  is  bad  in  the 
best  —  and  perhaps  she  struggles  with  temptations 
which  never  assail  you." 

Jean's  lips  were  set  in  an  obstinate  line. 
"  Daddy  was  always  saying  things  like  that  about 
Hilda." 

"  Well,  we  men  are  apt  to  be  charitable  —  to 
341 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

beauty  in  distress."  The  General  was  keenly  and 
humorously  aware  that  if  Hilda  had  been  ugly,  he 
might  not  have  been  so  anxious  about  the  pink  par- 
asol. He  might  not,  indeed,  have  pitied  her  at  all ! 

And  now  in  Jean's  heart  grew  up  a  sharply  de- 
nned fear  of  Hilda.  In  the  old  days  there  had  been 
cordial  dislike,  jealousy,  perhaps,  but  never  any- 
thing like  this.  The  question  persisted  in  the  back 
of  her  mind.  If  Hilda  went  to  France,  would  she 
see  Daddy  and  weave  her  wicked  spells.  To  find 
the  General  melting  into  pity,  in  spite  of  the  chaos 
which  Hilda's  treachery  had  created,  was  to  won- 
der if  Daddy,  too,  might  melt. 

She  wrote  to  Derry  about  it. 

"  I  would  try  and  see  her  if  I  knew  what  to  say, 
but  when  I  even  think  of  it  I  am  scared.  I  never 
liked  her,  and  I  feel  now  as  if  I  should  be  glad 
to  pin  together  the  pages  of  my  memory  of  her, 
as  I  pinned  together  the  pages  of  one  of  my  story 
books  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  There  was  a  shark 
under  water  in  the  picture  and  two  men  were  trying 
to  get  away  from  him.  I  hated  that  picture  and 
shivered  every  time  I  looked  at  it,  so  I  stuck  in  a 
pin  and  shut  out  the  sight  of  it. 

"  Your  father  has  had  two  letters  from  her  since 
the  day  when  he  saw  her  in  the  Park.  Bronson  al- 
ways brings  the  mail  to  me,  and  you  know  what  a 
distinctive  hand  Hilda  writes,  there  is  no  mistak- 
ing it.  Your  father  dropped  the  letters  into  the 
fire,  but  she  ought  not  to  write  to  him,  Derry,  and 
I  should  like  to  tell  her  so. 
342 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

"  But  if  I  told  her,  she  would  laugh  at  me,  and 
that  would  be  the  end  of  it.  For  you  can't  rage  and 
tear  and  rant  at  a  thing  that  is  as  cold  as  stone. 
Oh,  my  dearest,  I  need  you  so  much  to  tell  me  what 
to  do,  and  yet  I  would  not  have  you  here  — 

"  I  met  Alma  Drew  the  other  day,  and  she  said, 
as  lightly  as  you  please,  *  Do  you  know,  I  can't 
quite  fancy  Derry  Drake  in  the  trenches.' 

"  I  looked  at  her  for  a  minute  before  I  could  an- 
swer, and  then  I  said,  '  I  can  fancy  him  with  his 
back  to  the  wall,  fighting  a  thousand  Huns  — ! ' 

"  She  shrugged  her  shoulders, '  You're  terribly  in 
love.' 

"  '  I  am,'  I  said,  and  I  hope  I  said  it  calmly,  *  but 
there's  more  than  love  in  a  woman's  belief  in  her 
husband's  bravery  —  there's  respect.  And  it's  some- 
thing rather  —  sacred,  Alma.'  And  then  I  choked 
up  and  couldn't  say  another  word,  and  she  looked 
at  me  in  a  rather  stunned  fashion  for  a  moment, 
and  then  she  said, (  Gracious  Peter,  do  you  love  him 
like  that? '  and  I  said,  *  I  do,'  and  she  laughed  in  a 
funny  little  way,  and  said,  <  I  thought  it  was  his 
millions.' 

"  I  was  perfectly  furious.  But  you  can't  argue 
with  such  people.  I  know  I  was  as  white  as  a 
sheet.  '  If  anything  should  happen  to  Derry,'  I 
said, '  do  you  think  that  all  the  money  in  the  world 
would  comfort  me? ' 

"  She  stopped  smiling.  '  It  would  comfort  me,' 
then  suddenly  she  held  out  her  hand.  *  But  I 
fancy  you're  different,  and  Derry  is  a  lucky  fellow.' 
which  was  rather  nice  and  human  of  her,  wasn't 
it? 

"Life  is  growing  more  complicated  than  ever 
343 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

here  in  Washington.  The  crowds  pour  in  as  if  the 
Administration  were  a  sort  of  Pied  Piper  and  had 
played  a  tune,  and  the  people  who  have  lived  here 
all  their  lives  are  waking  to  something  like  activity. 
Great  buildings  are  going  up  as  if  some  Aladdin  had 
rubbed  a  lamp  — .  None  of  us  are  doing  the  things 
we  used  to  do.  We  don't  even  talk  about  the 
things  we  used  to  talk  about,  and  we  go  around  in 
blue  gingham  and  caps,  and  white  linen  and  veils, 
and  we  hand  out  sandwiches  to  the  soldiers  and 
sailors,  and  drive  perfectly  strange  men  in  our  cars 
on  Government  errands,  and  make  Liberty  Bond 
speeches  from  many  platforms,  and  all  the  old  theo- 
ries of  what  women  should  do  are  forgotten  in  the 
rush  of  the  things  which  must  be  done  by  women. 
It  is  as  if  we  had  all  been  bewitched  and  turned  into 
somebody  else. 

"  Well,  I  wish  that  Hilda  could  be  turned  into 
somebody  else.  Into  somebody  as  nice  as  — 
Emily — .  But  she  won't  be.  She  hasn't  been 
changed  the  least  bit  by  the  war,  and  everybody 
else  has,  even  Alma,  or  she  wouldn't  have  said  that 
about  your  being  lucky  to  have  me.  Are  you  lucky, 
Derry? 

"  And  when  Hilda  sets  her  mind  on  a  thing  — . 
Oh,  I  can't  seem  to  talk  of  anything  but  Hilda  — 
when  she  sets  her  mind  on  anything,  she  gets  it  in 
one  way  or  another  —  and  that's  why  I  am  afraid 
of  her." 

Derry  wrote  back. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  anything,  Jean- Joan.     And 
it  won't  do  any  good  to  talk  to  Hilda.     I  don't 
want  you  to  talk  to  her.     You  are  too  much  of  a 
344 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

white  angel  to  contend  against  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness. 

"  As  for  my  luck  in  having  you,  it  is  something 
which  transcends  luck  —  it  just  hits  the  stars,  dear- 
est. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  fellows  do  who  haven't  any 
wives  to  anchor  themselves  to  in  a  time  like  this? 
Through  all  the  day  I  have  this  hour  in  mind  when 
I  can  write  to  you  —  and  I  think  there  are  lots  of 
other  fellows  like  that  —  for  I  can  see  them  all 
about  me  here  in  the  Hut,  bending  over  their  letters 
with  a  look  on  their  faces  which  isn't  there  at  any 
other  time. 

"  By  Jove,  Jean-Joan,  I  never  knew  before  what 
women  meant  in  the  lives  of  men.  Here  we  are 
marooned,  as  it  were,  on  an  island  of  masculinity, 
yet  it  isn't  what  the  other  fellows  think  of  us  that 
counts,  it  is  what  you  think  who  are  miles  away. 
Always  in  the  back  of  our  minds  is  the  thought  of 
what  you  expect  of  us  and  demand  of  us,  and  added 
to  what  we  demand  and  expect  of  ourselves,  it  sways 
us  level.  We  don't  talk  a  great  deal  about  you,  but 
now  and  then  some  fellow  says,  '  My  wife/  and  we 
all  prick  up  our  ears  and  want  to  hear  the  rest  of  it. 

"  It  is  a  great  life,  dearest,  in  spite  of  the  hard 
work,  in  spite  of  the  stress  and  strain.  And  to  me 
who  have  known  so  little  of  the  great  human  game 
it  is  a  great  revelation. 

"  In  the  first  place,  there  has  been  brought  to  me 
the  knowledge  of  the  joy  of  real  labor.  I  shall 
never  again  be  sorry  for  the  man  who  toils.  You 
see,  I  had  never  toiled,  not  in  the  sense  that  a  man 
does  whose  labor  counts.  I  was  always  a  rather 
anxious  and  lonely  little  boy,  looking  after  my 
345 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

father  and  trying  to  help  my  mother,  and  feeling  a 
bit  of  a  mollycoddle  because  I  had  a  tutor  and  did 
not  go  to  school  with  the  other  chaps.  In  the  eyes 
of  the  world  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  lucky  fellow, 
but  I  know  now  what  I  have  missed.  In  these  days 
I  am  rubbing  elbows  with  fellows  who  have  had  to 
hustle,  and  I  am  discovering  that  life  is  a  great 
game,  and  that  I  have  missed  the  game.  If  Dad 
had  been  different,  he  might  have  pushed  me  into 
things,  as  some  men  with  money  push  their  sons, 
making  them  stand  on  their  own  feet.  But  Dad  liked 
an  easy  life,  and  he  was  perhaps  entitled  to  ease, 
for  he  had  struggled  in  his  younger  years.  But  I 
have  never  struggled.  I  have  always  had  somebody 
to  brush  my  clothes  and  to  bring  my  breakfast,  and 
I  think  I  have  had  a  sort  of  hazy  idea  that  life  was 
like  that  for  everybody  —  or  if  it  wasn't,  then  the 
people  who  couldn't  be  brushed  and  breakfasted  by 
others  were  much  to  be  pitied. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  a  Tin  Soldier,  Jean-Joan,  left  out 
not  only  of  the  war  but  of  life.  I've  been  on  the 
shelf  all  these  years  in  our  big  house,  with  the 
wooden  trumpets  blowing,  '  Trutter-a-trutt '  while 
other  men  have  striven. 

"  When  I  first  came  here  I  had  a  sort  of  detached 
feeling.  I  had  no  experiences  to  match  with  the 
experiences  of  other  men.  I  had  never  had  to  rush 
in  the  morning  to  catch  a  subway,  I  had  never  eaten, 
to  put  it  poetically,  by  candlelight,  so  that  I  might 
get  to  the  store  by  eight.  I  had  never  sold  papers, 
or  plowed  fields,  or  stood  behind  a  counter.  I  had 
never  sat  at  a  desk,  I  had  never  in  fact  done  any- 
thing really  useful,  I  had  just  been  rich,  and  that 
isn't  much  of  a  background  as  I  am  beginning  to 
see  it  here  — . 

346 


TEE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

"  I  find  myself  having  a  rather  strange  feeling  of 
exaltation  as  the  days  go  by,  because  for  the  first 
time  I  am  a  cog  in  a  great  machine,  for  the  first 
time  I  am  toiling  and  sweating  as  I  rather  think  it 
was  intended  that  men  should  toil  and  sweat.  And 
the  friends  that  I  am  making  are  the  sign  and  seal 
of  the  levelling  effects  of  this  great  war.  Not  one  of 
the  men  of  what  you  might  call  my  own  class  in- 
terests me  half  as  much  as  Tommy  Tracy,  who  be- 
fore he  entered  the  service  drove  the  car  of  one  of 
Dad's  business  associates.  I  have  often  ridden  be- 
hind Tommy,  but  he  doesn't  know  it.  And  I  don't 
intend  that  he  shall.  He  rather  fancies  that  I  am 
a  scholarly  chap  torn  from  my  books,  and  he  patron- 
izes me  on  the  strength  of  his  knowledge  of  prac- 
tical things. 

"  Tommy  likes  to  eat,  and  he  talks  a  great  deal 
about  his  mother's  cooking.  He  says  there  was  al- 
ways tripe  for  Sunday  mornings,  and  corned  beef 
and  cabbage  on  Mondays,  and  Monday  was  wash- 
day! 

"  I  wish  you  could  hear  him  tell  what  wash-day 
meant  to  him.  It  is  a  sort  of  poem,  the  way  he  puts 
it.  He  doesn't  know  that  it  is  poetry,  though 
Vachell  Lindsay  would,  or  Masters,  or  some  of  those 
fellows. 

"  It  seems  that  he  used  to  help  his  mother,  be- 
cause he  was  a  strong  little  fellow,  and  could  turn 
the  wringer,  and  they  would  get  up  very  early  be- 
cause he  had  to  go  to  school,  and  in  the  spring  and 
summer  they  washed  out  of  doors,  under  a  tree  in 
the  yard,  and  his  mother's  eyes  were  bright  and  her 
cheeks  were  red  and  her  arms  were  white,  and  she 
was  always  laughing.  There's  a  memory  for  a  man 
on  the  battlefield,  dearest,  a  healthy,  hearty  memory 
347 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

of  the  day's  work  of  a  boy,  and  of  a  bright-eyed 
mother,  and  of  a  good  dinner  at  the  end  of  hours  of 
toil. 

"  Perhaps  with  such  a  mother  it  isn't  surprising 
that  Tommy  has  made  so  much  of  himself.  He  has 
aspirations  far  beyond  driving  some  other  man's 
car,  and  if  he  keeps  on  he'll  have  a  little  flivver  of 
his  own  before  he  knows  it  —  when  the  war  ends, 
and  he  can  strike  out,  with  his  energy  at  the  boil- 
ing point. 

"  There  are  a  lot  of  men  who  have  belonged  not 
to  the  idle  rich,  but  to  the  idle  poor,  and  the  disci- 
pline of  this  life  is  just  the  thing  for  them  as  it  is  for 
me.  It  rather  contradicts  the  kindergarten  idea  of 
play  as  a  preparation  for  life.  These  busy  men, 
forced  to  be  busy,  are  a  thousand  times  more  self- 
respecting  than  if  left  to  lead  the  listless  lives  that 
were  theirs  before  their  country  called  them.  I 
wonder  if,  after  all,  Kipling  isn't  right,  and  that 
the  hump  and  hoof  and  haunch  of  it  all  isn't  obe- 
dience? Not  slavish  obedience,  but  obedience 
founded  on  a  knowledge  of  one's  place  and  value  in 
the  pack?  " 

Jean,  striving  to  follow  Berry's  point  of  view, 
found  herself  floundering. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  but  I  don't  see  how  you 
can.  And  you  mustn't  say  that  you've  always  been 
a  Tin  Soldier  on  a  shelf.  I  won't  have  it.  And 
you  have  played  the  game  of  life  just  as  bravely  as 
Tommy  Tracy,  only  your  problems  were  different  — . 
And  if  you  can't  remember  wash  days  you  can  re- 
member other  days  — .  But  I  like  to  have  you  tell 
me  about  it,  because  I  can  see  you,  listening  to 
348 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

Tommy  and  laughing  at  him.  I  adore  your  laugh, 
Derry,  though  I  shouldn't  be  telling  you,  should 
I  —  ?  I  have  pasted  the  picture  you  sent  me  of 
you  and  Tommy  in  my  memory  book  and  have  writ- 
ten under  it, '  When  you  and  I  were  young,  Tommy ' 
and  I've  drawn  a  cloud  of  steam  above  Tommy, 
with  washboilers  —  and  tubs  —  and  cabbages  and 
soap  suds,  and  his  mother's  face  smiling  in  the 
midst  of  it  all — .  And  in  your  cloud  is  your 
mother  smiling,  too,  with  her  little  crown  on  her 
head,  and  gold  spoons  for  a  border  —  and  a  frosted 
cake  with  candles  —  and  a  mountain  of  ice-cream. 
Perhaps  you  have  other  memories,  but  I  had  to  do 
the  best  I  could  with  my  poor  little  rich  boy  — " 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Jean's  memory  book 
became  chaotic.  Most  of  the  things  in  it  had  to  do 
with  Derry,  a  bit  of  pine  from  a  young  plume  which 
Derry  had  sent  her  from  the  south  —  triangles  cut 
from  the  letter  paper  on  which  he  sometimes  wrote 
—  post-cards  to  say  "  Good-morning,"  telegrams  to 
say  "Good-night" — a  service  pin  with  its  one 
sacred  star. 

There  were  reminders,  too,  of  the  things  which 
were  happening  across  the  sea,  a  cartoon  or  two,  a 
small  reproduction  of  a  terrible  Kaemaeker  print; 
verse,  much  of  it  — 


"  They  have  taken  your  bells,  O  God, 
The  bells  that  hung  in  your  towers, 
That  cried  your  grace  in  a  lovely  song, 
And  counted  the  praying  hours! 
349 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  little  birds  flew  away ! 

They  will  tell  the  clouds  and  the  wind, 

Till  the  uttermost  places  know 

The  sin  that  the  Hun  has  sinned! 


Jean  thought  a  great  deal  about  the  Huns.  She 
always  called  them  that.  She  hated  to  think  about 
them,  but  she  had  to.  She  couldn't  pin  the  pages 
together,  as  it  were,  of  her  thoughts.  And  the 
Huns  were  worse  than  the  sharks  that  had  fright- 
ened her  in  her  little  girl  days.  Oh,  they  were 
much  worse  than  sharks,  for  the  shark  was  only 
following  an  instinct  when  it  killed,  and  the  Huns 
had  worked  out  diabolically  their  murderous,  mon- 
strous plan. 

In  the  days  when  she  had  argued  with  Hilda,  she 
had  been  told  of  the  power  and  perfection  of  Prus- 
sian rule.  "  Everything  is  at  loose  ends  in  Amer- 
ica," had  been  Hilda's  accusation. 

"  Well,  what  if  it  is?  "  Jean  had  flung  back  at  her 
hotly.  "  Having  things  in  place  isn't  the  end  and 
aim  of  happiness.  Just  because  a  house  is  swept 
and  garnished  isn't  any  sign  that  it  is  a  blissful 
habitation.  When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  visit  my 
two  great-aunts  in  Maryland.  I  loved  to  go  to 
Aunt  Mary's,  but  I  dreaded  Aunt  Anne's.  And 
the  reason  was  this.  Everything  in  Aunt  Anne's 
house  went  by  clock-work,  and  everything  was  pol- 
ished and  scrubbed  and  dusted  within  an  inch  of  its 
350 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

life.  When  we  arrived,  we  scraped  our  shoes  before 
we  kissed  Aunt  Anne,  and  when  we  departed,  we 
felt  that  she  literally  swept  us  out — .  We  had 
hours  for  everything,  and  nobody  thought  of  doing 
as  she  pleased.  It  was  always  as  Aunt  Anne 
pleased,  and  the  meals  were  always  on  time,  and 
nobody  was  ever  expected  to  be  late,  and  if  she  was 
late  she  was  scolded  or  punished ;  and  nobody  ever 
dared  throw  a  newspaper  on  the  floor,  or  go  out  to 
the  kitchen  and  make  fudge,  or  pop  corn  by  the 
sitting-room  fire.  Yet  Aunt  Anne  was  so  efficient 
that  her  house-keeping  was  the  admiration  of  the 
whole  State. 

"  But  we  loved  Aunt  Mary's.  She  would  come 
smiling  down  the  stone  walk  to  meet  us,  and  she 
would  leave  the  morning's  work  undone  to  wander 
with  us  in  the  fields  or  woods.  And  we  had  some  of 
our  meals  under  the  trees,  and  some  of  them  in  the 
house,  and  when  we  made  taffy,  and  it  stuck  to 
things,  Aunt  Mary  smiled  some  more  and  said  it 
didn't  matter.  And  we  loved  the  freedom  of  our 
life,  and  we  went  to  Aunt  Mary's  as  often  as  we 
could,  and  stayed  away  when  we  could  from  Aunt 
Anne's. 

"And  that's  the  way  with  America.  It  isn't 
perfect,  it  isn't  efficient,  but  it  is  a  lovely  place  to 
live  in,  because  in  a  sense  we  can  live  as  we  please. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  man  who  wanted  to  go 
back  to  slavery?  As  a  slave  he  was  fed  and  clothed 
351 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

and  kept  by  his  master,  with  no  thought  of  respon- 
sibility— .  Yet  it  was  freedom  he  wanted,  even 
though  he  had  to  go  hungry  now  and  then  for  the 
sake  of  it  — " 

"  I  like  law  and  order,"  Hilda  said.  "  We  don't 
always  have  it  here." 

"  I'd  rather  be  a  gipsy  on  the  road,"  had  been 
Jean's  passionate  declaration,  "and  free,  than  a 
princess  with  a  '  verboten '  sign  at  all  the  palace 
gates." 

There  were  wisps  of  gauze,  too,  in  her  memory 
book,  a  red  cross,  drawings  in  which  were  carica- 
tured some  of  the  women  who  worked  in  the  surgi- 
cal dressing  rooms. 

"  Emily,"  Jean  asked,  as  she  showed  one  of  the 
pictures  to  her  friend,  "  do  such  women  come  be- 
cause it's  fashion  or  because  they  really  feel  — ?  " 

"  I  fancy  their  motives  are  mixed,"  said  Emily, 
"  and  you  mustn't  think  because  they  wear  high 
heels  and  fluff  their  hair  out  over  their  ears  that 
they  haven't  any  hearts." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  Jean  admitted,  "  but  I  won- 
der what  they  think  the  veils  are  for  when  they 
fluff  out  their  hair. 

"  And  their  rings,"  she  went  on.     "  You  see,  when 

they  all  have  on  white  aprons  and  veils  you  can't 

tell  whether  they.are  Judy  O'Grady  or  the  Colonel's 

lady  —  so  they  load  their  hands  with  diamonds. 

352 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

As  if  the  hands  wouldn't  tell  the  tale  themselves. 
Why,  Emily,  if  you  and  Hilda  were  hidden  all  but 
your  hands,  the  people  would  know  the  Colonel's 
lady  from  Judy  O'Grady." 

Emily  smiled  abstractedly,  she  was  counting 
compresses.  She  stopped  long  enough  to  ask,  "  Is 
Hilda  still  in  town?  " 

"  Yes.  I  saw  her  yesterday  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  I  didn't  speak,  but  some  day  when  I 
get  a  good  opportunity  I  am  going  to  tell  her  what 
I  think  of  her." 

But  when  the  opportunity  came  she  did  not  say 
all  that  she  had  meant  to  say ! 

She  went  over  one  morniiig  to  her  father's  house 
to  get  some  papers  which  he  had  left  in  his  desk. 
The  house  had  been  closed  for  weeks  and  the  hall, 
as  she  entered  it,  was  cold  with  a  chill  that  reached 
the  marrow  of  her  bones  —  it  was  dim  with  the 
half-gloom  of  drawn  curtains  and  closed  doors. 
Even  the  rose-colored  drawing-room  as  she  stood 
on  the  threshold  held  no  radiance  —  it  had  the 
stiff  and  frozen  look  of  a  soulless  body.  Yet  she 
remembered  how  it  had  throbbed  and  thrilled  on  the 
night  that  Derry  had  come  to  her.  The  golden  air 
had  washed  in  waves  over  her. 

She  shivered  and  went  over  to  the  window.  She 
pulled  up  a  curtain  and  looked  out  upon  the  gray- 
ness  of  the  street.  The  clouds  were  low,  and  a 
strong  wind  was  blowing.  Those  who  passed,  bent 
353 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

to  the  wind.  She  was  slightly  above  the  level  of 
the  street,  and  nobody  looked  up  at  her.  She  might 
have  been  a  ghost  in  the  ghostly  house. 

Well,  she  had  to  get  the  papers.  She  turned  to 
face  the  gloom,  and  as  she  turned  she  heard  a 
sound  in  the  room  above  her. 

It  was  the  rather  startling  sound  of  muffled  steps. 
She  dared  not  go  into  the  hall.  She  felt  compara- 
tively safe  by  the  window  — .  If  —  anything  came, 
she  could  open  the  window  and  call. 

But  she  did  not  call,  for  it  was  Hilda  who  came 
presently  on  rubber-heels  and  stood  in  the  door. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  some  one,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"How  did  you  get  in?"  was  Jean's  abrupt  de- 
mand. 

"  I  had  my  key.     I  have  never  given  it  up." 

"  But  this  is  no  longer  your  home." 

"  It  was  never  home,"  said  Hilda,  darkly.  "  It 
was  never  home.  I  lived  here  with  you  and  your 
father,  but  it  was  never  home." 

Jean,  more  than  ever  afraid  of  this  woman,  had 
a  sudden  sense  of  something  tragic  in  the  fact  of 
Hilda's  homelessness. 

"I  don't  quite  see  what  you  mean,"  she  said, 
slowly. 

"  You  couldn't  see,"  Hilda  told  her,  "  and  you  will 
never  see.  Women  like  you  don't." 

"We  —  didn't  get  on  very  well  together,"  Jean 
354 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

said,  almost  timidly,  "  but  that  was  because  we  were 
different." 

"It  wasn't  because  we  were  different  that  we 
didn't  get  on,"  Hilda  said.  "  It  was  because  you 
were  afraid  of  me.  You  knew  your  father  liked 
me." 

With  her  usual  frankness  she  spoke  the  truth  as 
she  saw  it. 

"  I  was  not  afraid,"  Jean  faltered. 

"  You  were.  But  we  needn't  talk  about  that.  I 
am  going  to  France." 

"When?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  get  there.  That's  why  I  came 
here.  To  take  away  some  things  I  wanted." 

«Oh—  " 

"  And  one  of  the  things  I  wanted  was  the  picture 
of  your  father  which  hung  in  your  room.  I  have 
taken  that.  You  can  get  more  of  them.  I  can't. 
So  I  have  taken  it." 

They  faced  each  other,  this  shining  child  and  this 
dark  woman. 

"  But  —  but  it  is  mine  —  Hilda." 

"  It  is  mine  now,  and  if  I  were  you,  I  shouldn't 
make  a  fuss  about  it." 

"  Hilda,  how  dare  you !  "  Jean  began  in  the  old 
indignant  way,  and  stopped.     There  was  something 
so  sinister  about  it  all.     She  hated  the  thought  that 
she  and  Hilda  were  alone  in  the  empty  house  — 
355 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Hilda,  if  you  go  to  France,  shall  you  see 
Daddy?" 

"  I  shall  try.  I  had  a  letter  from  him  the  other 
day.  He  told  me  not  to  come.  But  I  am  going. 
There  is  work  to  do,  and  I  am  going." 

Jean  had  a  stunned  feeling,  as  if  there  was  noth- 
ing left  to  say,  as  if  Hilda  were  indeed  a  rock,  and 
words  would  rebound  from  her  hard  surface. 

"  But  after  all,  you  didn't  really  care  for 
Daddy—" 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  You  were  going  to  marry  the  General." 

"  Well,  I  wanted  a  home.  I  wanted  some  of  the 
things  you  had  always  had.  I'm  not  old,  and  I  am 
tired  of  being  a  machine." 

For  just  one  moment  her  anger  blazed,  then  she 
laughed  with  something  of  toleration. 

"  Oh,  you'd  never  understand  if  I  talked  a  year. 
So  what's  the  use  of  wasting  breath?  " 

She  said  "  Good-bye "  after  that,  and  Jean 
watched  her  go,  hearing  the  padded  steps  —  until 
the  front  door  shut  and  there  was  silence. 

After  that,  with  almost  a  sense  of  panic,  she  sped 
through  the  empty  rooms,  finding  the  papers  after 
a  frantic  search,  and  gaining  the  street  with  a  sense 
of  escape. 

Yet  even  then,  it  was  some  time  before  her  heart 
beat  normally,  and  always  after  that  when  she 
356 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

thought  of  Hilda,  it  was  against  the  chill  and  gloom 
of  the  empty  house,  with  that  look  upon  her  face  of 
dark  resentment. 


357 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

SOMEWHERE  in  France,  Drusilla  had  found  the 
Captain.  Or,  rather,  he  had  found  her.  He  had 
come  upon  her  one  rainy  afternoon,  and  had  not 
recognized  her  in  her  muddy  uniform,  with  a  strap 
under  her  chin.  Then  all  at  once  he  had  heard  her 
voice,  crooning  a  song  to  a  badly  wounded  boy 
whose  head  lay  in  her  lap. 

The  Captain  had  stopped  in  his  tracks.  "  Dru- 
silla—" 

The  light  in  her  eyes  gave  him  his  welcome,  but 
she  waved  him  away. 

The  boy  died  in  her  arms.  When  she  joined  her 
lover,  she  was  much  moved.  "  It  is  not  my  work 
to  look  after  the  wounded;  I  carry  blankets  and 
things  to  refugees.  But  now  and  then  —  it  hap- 
pens. A  shell  burst  in  the  street,  and  that  poor 
lad  —  !  He  asked  me  to  sing  for  him  —  you  see, 
I  have  been  singing  for  them  as  they  go  through, 
and  he  remembered  — " 

He  was  holding  both  of  her  hands  in  his. 
"  Dear  woman,  dear  woman  — "  There  were  peo- 
ple all  about  them,  but  there  were  no  conventions  in 
358 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

war  times,  and  nobody  cared  if  he  held  her  hands. 

Her  face  was  dirty,  her  hair  wind-blown.  She 
was  muddy  and  without  a  trace  of  the  smartness 
for  which  she  had  been  famous.  She  was  simply  a 
hard- worked  woman  in  clothes  of  masculine  cut,  yet 
never  had  she  seemed  so  beautiful  to  her  lover. 
He  bent  and  kissed  her  in  the  market-place.  He 
was  an  undemonstrative  Englishman,  but  there  was 
that  in  her  eyes  which  carried  him  away  from  self- 
consciousness. 

"  I  saw  McKenzie  in  Paris,"  he  said.  "  He  told 
me  that  you  were  here." 

"  We  came  over  together.  Did  you  get  my  let- 
ter? " 

"  I  have  had  no  letters.  But  now  that  I  have 
you,  nothing  matters." 

"Really?  Somehow  I  don't  feel  that  I  deserve 
it." 

"  Deserve  what?  " 

"  All  that  you  are  giving  me.  But  I  have  liked 
to  think  of  it.  It  has  been  a  prop  to  lean  on  — " 

"  Only  that  —  ?" 

"A  shield  and  a  buckler,  dearest,  a  cross  held 
high  — "  Her  breath  came  quickly. 

They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  worn  doorstep  of  a 
shattered  building  and  talked. 

"  I  am  in  a  shack  —  a  baraque  —  they  call  it," 
Drusilla  told  him,  "  with  three  other  women.  We 
359 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

have  fixed  up  one  room  a  little  better  than  the 
others,  and  whenever  the  men  come  through  the 
town  some  of  them  drift  in  and  are  warmed  by  our 
fire,  and  I  sing  to  them ;  they  call  me  *  The  Singing 
Woman.' " 

She  did  not  tell  him  how  she  had  mothered  the 
lads.  She  was  not  much  older  than  some  of  them, 
but  they  had  instinctively  recognized  the  maternal 
quality  of  her  interest  in  them.  With  all  her 
beauty  they  had  turned  to  her  for  that  which  was  in 
a  sense  spiritual. 

Hating  the  war,  Drusilla  yet  loved  the  work  she 
had  to  do.  There  was,  of  course,  the  horror  of  it, 
but  there  was,  too,  the  stimulus  of  living  in  a  world 
of  realities.  She  wondered  if  she  wrere  the  same 
girl  who  had  burned  her  red  candles  and  had  served 
her  little  suppers,  safe  and  sound  and  far  away 
from  the  stress  of  fighting. 

She  wondered,  too,  if  women  over  there  were  still 
thinking  of  their  gowns,  and  men  of  their  gold. 
Were  they  planning  to  go  North  in  the  summer  and 
South  in  the  winter?  Were  they  still  care-free  and 
comfortable? 

People  over  here  were  not  comfortable,  but  how 
little  they  cared,  and  how  splendid  they  were.  She 
had  seen  since  she  came  such  incredibly  heroic 
things  —  men  as  tender  as  women,  women  as  brave 
as  men  —  she  had  seen  human  nature  at  its  biggest 
and  best. 

360 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

"  I  have  never  been  religious,"  she  told  the  Cap- 
tain, earnestly;  "our  f amity  is  the  kind  which 
finds  sufficient  outlet  in  a  cool  intellectual  conclu- 
sion that  all's  right  with  the  world,  and  it  doesn't 
make  much  difference  what  comes  hereafter.  You 
know  the  attitude?  '  If  there  is  future  life,  we 
shall  be  glad  to  explore,  and  if  there  isn't,  we  shall 
be  content  to  sleep ! ' 

"  But  since  I  have  been  over  here,  I  have  carried 
a  little  prayer-book,  and  I've  read  things  to  the 
men,  and  when  I  have  come  to  that  part  '  Gladly  to 
die  —  that  we  may  rise  again/  I  have  known  that 
it  is  true,  Captain  — " 

He  laid  his  hand  over  hers.  "  May  I  have  your 
prayer-book  in  exchange  for  mine?  "  He  was  very 
serious.  With  all  his  heart  he  loved  her,  and  never 
more  than  at  this  moment  when  she  had  thrown 
aside  all  reserves  and  had  let  him  see  her  soul. 

She  drew  the  little  book  from  her  pocket.  It  was 
bound  in  red  leather,  with  a  thin  black  cross  on  the 
cover.  His  own  was  in  khaki. 

"  I  want  something  else,"  he  said,  as  he  held  the 
book  in  his  hand. 

"What?" 

"This."  He  touched  a  lock  of  hair  which  lay 
against  her  cheek.  "  A  bit  of  it  —  of  you  — " 

A  band  of  poilus  —  marching  through  the  street, 
saw  him  cut  it  off.  But  they  did  not  laugh.  They 
had  great  respect  for  a  thing  like  that  —  and  it 
361 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

happened  every  day  —  when  men  went  away  from 
their  women. 

They  separated  with  a  promise  of  perhaps  a  re- 
union in  Paris,  if  he  could  get  leave  and  if  she 
could  be  spared.  Then  she  drove  away  through 
the  mud  in  her  little  car,  and  he  went  back  to  his 
men. 

Thus  they  were  swept  apart  by  that  tide  of  war 
which  threatened  to  submerge  the  world. 

Drusilla,  arriving  late  at  her  baraque,  made  tea, 
and  sat  by  an  infinitesimal  stove. 

She  found  herself  alone,  for  the  other  women 
were  away  on  various  errands.  She  uncovered  all 
the  glory  of  her  lovely  hair,  and  in  her  little  mirror 
surveyed  pensively  the  ragged  lock  over  her  left  ear. 

A  man  like  that,  oh,  a  man  like  that.  What  more 
could  a  woman  ask  —  than  love  like  that? 

Yet  even  in  the  midst  of  her  thought  of  him,  came 
the  feeling  that  she  was  not  predestined  for  happi- 
ness. She  must  go  on  riding  over  rough  roads  on 
her  errands  of  mercy.  Nothing  must  interfere  with 
that,  not  love  or  matters  of  personal  preference  — 
nothing. 

She  was  very  tired.  But  there  was  no  time  for 
rest.  A  half  dozen  kilted  Highlanders  hailed  her 
through  the  open  door  and  asked  for  a  song.  She 
gave  them  "  Wee  Hoose  Amang  the  Heather  — " 
standing  on  the  step.  It  was  still  raining,  and 
they  took  with  them  a  picture  of  a  girl  with  glori- 
362 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

ous  uncovered  liair,  and  that  cut  tell-tale  lock 
against  her  cheek. 

Drusilla  watching  them  go,  wondered  if  she 
would  ever  see  them  again,  with  their  pert  caps, 
the  bare  knees  of  them  —  the  strong  swing  of  their 
bodies. 

She  stretched  her  arms  above  her  head.  "  Oh, 
oh,  I'm  tired  — " 

She  went  in  and  poured  another  cup  of  tea.  She 
left  the  door  open.  Indeed  it  always  stood  open 
that  the  room  might  shine  its  welcome. 

Snatching  forty  winks,  she  waked  to  find  a 
woman  standing  over  her  —  a  tall  woman  in  a  blue 
cloak  and  bonnet,  who  held  in  her  hand  a  dripping 
umbrella. 

She  felt  that  she  still  dreamed.  "  It  can't  be 
Hilda  Merritt?" 

"  Yes,  it  is."  Hilda  set  the  umbrella  in  the  wood 
box.  "  I  knew  you  were  here." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  Dr.  McKenzie." 

"  Oh,  you  are  with  him,  then?  " 

"  He  won't  have  me.     That's  why  I  came  to  you." 

"  To  me? " 

"  Yes.  I  want  you  to  tell  him  not  to  —  turn  me 
away." 

Drusilla  showed  her  bewilderment.     "  But,  surely 
nothing  that  I  could  say  would  have  more  weight 
with  him  than  your  own  arguments." 
3G3 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"You  are  his  kind.  He'd  listen.  Things  that 
you  say  count  with  him." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Well,  I've  offended  him.  And  he  won't  forgive 
me.  Not  even  for  the  sake  of  the  work.  And  I'm 
a  good  nurse,  Miss  Gray.  But  he's  as  hard  as  nails. 
And  —  and  he  sent  me  away." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  Drusilla  said  gently.  Hilda 
was  a  dark  figure  of  tragedy,  as  she  sat  there 
statuesquely  in  her  blue  cloak. 

"  You  could  make  him  see  how  foolish  it  is  to  re- 
fuse to  have  a  good  worker;  men  may  die  whom  I 
could  save.  He  thinks  that  —  those  things  don't 
mean  anything  to  me,  that  I  am  arguing  from  a  per- 
sonal standpoint.  He  wouldn't  think  that  of  you." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  of  course,"  Drusilla  said 
slowly.  She  was  not  sure  that  she  wanted  to  get 
into  it,  but  she  was  sorry  for  Hilda. 

"Won't  you  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  said  im- 
pulsively, "and  take  off  your  cloak?  I  am  afraid 
I  haven't  seemed  a  bit  hospitable.  I  was  so  sur- 
prised." 

Hilda  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  I'm  not  used  to  such 
courtesies  —  so  I  didn't  miss  it.  But  I  should  like 
the  tea,  and  something  to  eat  with  it.  I  left  Dr. 
McKenzie's  hospital  early  this  morning,  and  I 
haven't  eaten  since  —  I  didn't  want  anything  to 
eat—" 

She  watched  Drusilla  curiously  as  she  set  forth 
364 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

the  food.     "  It  must  seem  strange  to  you  to  live  in 
a  room  like  this." 

"  I  like  it." 

"  But  you  have  always  had  such  an  easy  life, 
Miss  Gray." 

Drusilla  smiled.  "It  may  have  looked  easy  to 
you.  But  I  give  you  my  word  that  keeping  up  with 
the  social  game  is  harder  than  this." 

"You  say  that,"  Hilda  told  her  crisply,  "not 
because  it's  true,  but  because  it  sounds  true.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  like  to  be  muddy  and 
dirty  and  live  in  a  place  like  this?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  it."  Something  flamed  in  the  back 
of  Drusilla's  eyes.  "  I  like  it  because  it  means 
something,  and  the  other  didn't." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  it,"  Hilda  stated.  "But 
nursing  is  all  I  am  fit  for.  I  came  over  with  a  lot 
of  other  nurses,  and  they  tell  me  at  the  hospital  I 
am  the  best  of  the  lot  —  and  in  war  times  you  can't 
afford  to  miss  the  experience.  But  then  I  am  used 
to  a  hard  life,  and  you  are  not." 

"  Neither  are  the  men  in  the  trenches  used  to  it. 
That's  the  standard  I  apply  to  myself  —  for  every 
hard  thing  I  am  doing,  it  is  ten  times  harder  for 
them.  I  wish  all  the  people  at  home  could  see  how 
wonderful  they  are." 

"  That's  Jean  McKenzie's  word  — -  wonderful. 
Everything  was  wonderful,  and  now  she  has  mar- 
ried Derry  Drake." 

365 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Yes,  she  has  married  Derry,"  Drusilla  stood 
staring  into  the  little  round  stove. 

She  roused  herself  presently.  "  I  call  them  Babes 
in  the  Wood.  They  seem  so  young,  and  yet  Derry 
isn't  really  young  —  it  is  only  that  there's  such  a 
radiant  air  about  him." 

Hilda's  bitterness  broke  forth.  "  Why  shouldn't 
he  be  radiant?  Life  has  given  him  everything.  It 
has  given  her  everything ;  in  a  way  it  has  given  you 
everything.  I  am  the  one  who  goes  without  —  it 
looks  as  if  I  should  always  go  without  the  things  I 
want." 

"  Don't  think  that,"  Drusilla  said  in  her  pleasant 
fashion.  "  Nobody  is  set  apart  —  and  some  day 
you  will  see  it.  Did  you  know  that  Derry  may  be 
over  now  at  any  time,  and  that  Jean  is  to  stay  with 
the  General?  " 

"Yes,"  Hilda  moved  restlessly.  There  came  to 
her  a  vision  of  the  big  house,  of  the  shadowed  room, 
of  the  room  beyond,  and  of  herself  in  a  tiara,  with 
ermine  on  her  cloak. 

What  a  dream  it  had  been,  and  she  had  waked  to 
this! 

She  rose.  "  If  Dr.  McKenzie  doesn't  take  me 
back  he  may  be  sorry.  Will  you  write  to  him?  " 

"I  shall  see  him  Saturday  —  in  Paris.  I  have 
promised  to  dine  with  him.  Captain  Hewes  is  com- 
ing, too,  if  he  can." 

Hilda,  going  away  in  the  rain,  dwelt  moodily  on 
366 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

Drusilla's  opportunities.  If  only  she,  too,  might 
dine  in  Paris  with  men  like  Dr.  McKenzie  and  Cap- 
tain Hewes.  There  were  indeed,  men  who  might 
ask  her  to  dine  with  them,  but  not  as  Drusilla  had 
been  asked,  as  an  equal  and  as  a  friend. 

The  way  was  long,  the  road  was  muddy.  There 
was  not  much  to  look  towards  at  the  end.  It  was 
not  that  she  minded  the  dreadfulness  of  sights  and 
sounds  —  she  had  been  too  much  in  hospitals  for 
that.  But  she  hated  the  ugliness,  the  roughness,  the 
grinding  toil. 

Yet  had  she  been  with  Dr.  McKenzie,  she  would 
have  toiled  gladly  for  him.  There  would  have  been 
the  sight  of  his  crinkled  copper  head,  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  his  teasing  laugh  to  sustain  her.  And 
now  it  was  Drusilla  wrho  would  see  him,  who  would 
sit  with  him  at  the  table,  who  would  tempt  his  teas- 
ing laugh. 

Well  —  if  he  didn't  take  her  back,-  he  would  be 
sorry.  There  had  been  a  patient  in  the  hospital 
who  in  his  delirium  had  whispered  things.  When 
he  had  come  to  himself,  she  had  told  him  calmly, 
"  You  are  a  spy."  He  had  not  whitened,  but  had 
measured  her  with  a  glance.  "  Help  me,  and  you 
shall  see  the  Emperor.  There  will  be  nothing  too 
good  for  you." 

Drusilla,  after  Hilda's  departure,  sat  by  her  little 
stove  and  thought  it  over.  She  divined  something 
which  did  not  appear  on  the  surface.  She  was  glad 
367 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

that  she  had  promised  to  plead  Hilda's  cause.    The 
woman's  face  haunted  her. 

And  now  the  other  workers  who  shared  Drusilla's 
shack  returned,  bringing  news  of  many  wounded 
and  on  the  way.  Then  came  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  the  long  line  of  ambulances,  the  ghastly  pro- 
cession that  trailed  behind. 

And  all  through  the  night  Drusilla  sang  to  men 
who  rested  for  a  moment  on  their  weary  way,  out 
of  the  shadows  came  eager  voices  asking  for  this 
song  and  that  —  then  they  would  pass  on,  and  she 
would  throw  herself  down  for  a  little  sleep,  to  rouse 
again  and  lift  her  voice,  while  the  other  women 
poured  the  coffee. 

She  was  hoarse  in  the  morning,  and  white  with 
fatigue,  but  when  one  of  the  women  said,  "  You 
can't  keep  this  up,  Drusilla,  you  can't  stand  it,"  she 
smiled.  "  They  stand  it  in  the  trenches,  and  some 
of  them  are  so  tired." 

She  was  as  fresh  as  paint,  however,  on  Saturday, 
when  she  met  Dr.  McKenzie  in  Paris.  "  I  have  had 
two  hot  baths,  and  all  my  clothes  are  starched  and 
ironed  and  fluted  by  an  adorable  Frenchwoman  who 
opened  her  house  for  me,"  she  announced  as  she  sat 
down  with  him  at  a  corner  table.  "  I  never  wore 
fluted  things  before,  but  you  can't  imagine  how 
civilizing  it  is  after  you've  been  letting  yourself 
down. 

368 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

The  Doctor  was  tired,  and  he  looked  it.  "  No  one 
has  starched  and  fluted  me." 

"  Poor  man.  I'm  glad  you  ran  away  from  it  all 
for  a  minute  with  me.  Captain  Hewes  thought  he 
might  be  able  to  come.  But  I  haven't  heard  from 
him,  have  you?" 

"  No.  But  he  may  blow  in  at  any  moment.  It 
seems  queer,  doesn't  it,  Drusilla,  that  you  and  I 
should  be  over  here  with  all  the  rest  of  them  left 
behind." 

She  hesitated,  then  brought  it  out  without  pre- 
lude. "  Hilda  came  to  see  me." 

"To  see  you?     Why?" 

"  She  is  broken-hearted  because  you  won't  let  her 
work  with  you." 

"  I  told  her  I  could  not.  And  she  hasn't  any 
heart  to  break." 

"  I  wonder  if  you'd  mind,"  Drusilla  ventured, 
"  telling  me  what's  the  matter." 

"  A  rather  squalid  story,"  but  he  told  it.  "  She 
wanted  to  marry  the  General." 

"  Poor  thing." 

He  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Then  you  de- 
fend her?" 

"  Oh,  no  —  no.     But  think  of  having  to  marry  to 

get  the  —  the  fleshpots,  and  to  miss  all  of  the  real 

meanings.     I  talked  to  Hilda  for  a  long  time,  and 

somehow  before  she  left  she  made  me  feel  sorry. 

369 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

She  wants  so  much  that  she  will  never  have.  And 
she  will  grow  hard  and  bitter  because  life  isn't  giv- 
ing her  all  that  she  demands." 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  plead  her  cause?  " 

"  Yes/'  frankly.  "  She  feels  that  you  ought  to 
give  her  another  chance/' 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  crinkled  hair.  "  I 
don't  want  her.  I'm  afraid  of  her." 

"Afraid?" 

"  She  sees  the  worst  that  is  in  me,  and  brings  it 
to  the  surface.  And  when  I  protest,  she  laughs  and 
insists  that  I  don't  know  myself.  That  I  am  a  sort 
of  Dr.  Jekyll,  with  the  Mr.  Hyde  part  of  me 
asleep  — " 

"  And  you  let  her  scare  you  like  that?  " 

He  nodded.  "  Every  man  has  a  weak  spot,  and 
mine  is  wanting  the  world  to  think  well  of  me." 

"  Think  well  of  yourself.  What  would  Jean  say 
if  she  heard  you  talking  like  this?  " 

"  Jean?  "  she  was  startled  by  the  breaking  up  of 
his  face  into  deep  lines  of  trouble.  "  Do  you  know 
what  she  is  doing,  Drusilla?  She  is  staying  in  that 
great  old  house  playing  daughter  to  the  General." 

"  Marion  says  the  General's  affection  for  her  is 
touching  —  he  doesn't  want  her  out  of  his  sight." 

"  And  because  he  doesn't  want  her  out  of  his  sight, 
she  must  stay  a  prisoner.     I  say  that  he  hasn't  done 
anything  to  deserve  such  devotion,  Drusilla.     He 
hasn't  done  anything  to  deserve  it." 
370 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

"  You  are  jealous." 

"No.  It  isn't  that.  Though  I'll  confess  that 
something  pulls  at  my  heart  when  I  think  of  it  — . 
But  I  want  her  to  be  happy." 

"  I  think  she  is  happy.  Life  is  giving  her  the 
hard  things  —  but  you  and  I  would  not  be  without 
the  —  hard  things ;  we  have  reached  out  our  hands 
for  them,  because  the  world  needs  us.  Are  you  go- 
ing to  deny  your  daughter  that?  " 

"Oh,  I  suppose  not.  But  I  hate  it.  Women 
ought  to  be  happy  —  care-free,  not  shut  up  in  sick 
rooms  or  running  around  in  the  rain." 

"  Oh,  you  men,  how  little  you  know  what  makes 
a  woman  happy."  She  stopped,  and  half  rose  from 
her  chair.  "  Captain  Hewes  is  coming." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  glad,  Drusilla,"  the  Doc- 
tor turned  to  survey  the  beaming  officer,  "  for  now 
you  won't  have  eyes  or  ears  for  me." 

But  she  was  glad. 

While  the  Captain  held  her  hand  in  his  as  if  he 
would  never  let  her  go,  she  told  him  about  being 
fluted  and  starched.  "  I  don't  look  as  dishevelled 
as  I  did  the  other  day." 

"  You  looked  beautiful  the  other  day,"  he  assured 
her  with  fervor,  "  but  this  is  better,  because  you  are 
rested  and  some  of  the  sadness  has  gone  out  of  your 
eyes." 

Dr.  McKenzie  watched  them  enviously,  "  I  real- 
ize," he  reminded  them,  "  that  I  am  the  fifth  wheel, 
371 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

or  any  other  superfluous  thing,  but  you  can't  get  rid 
of  me.  I  am  homesick  —  somebody's  got  to  cheer 
me  up." 

"  We  don't  want  to  get  rid  of  you,"  Brasilia  told 
him,  smiling. 

But  he  knew  that  her  loveliness  was  all  for  the 
Captain.  She  was  lighted  up  by  the  presence  of 
her  betrothed,  made  exquisite,  softer,  more 
womanly.  Love  had  come  slowly  to  Drusilla,  but  it 
had  come  at  last. 

When  the  Doctor  left  them,  he  was  in  a  daze  of 
loneliness.  He  wanted  Jean,  he  wanted  sympathy, 
understanding,  good-comradeship. 

For  just  one  little  moment  temptation  assailed 
him.  There  was  of  course,  Hilda.  She  would 
bring  with  her  the  atmosphere  of  familiar  things 
which  he  craved.  There  would  be  the  easy  give  and 
take  of  speech  which  was  such  a  relief  after  his  pro- 
fessional manner,  there  would  be  his  own  teasing 
sense  of  how  much  she  wanted,  and  of  how  little  he 
had  to  give.  There  would  be,  too,  the  stimulus  to 
his  vanity. 

A  broken-hearted  Hilda,  Drusilla  had  said. 
There  was  something  provocative  in  the  situation  — 
elements  of  drama.  Why  not? 

He  thought  about  it  that  night  when  once  more 
back  at  his  work  he  and  his  head  nurse  discussed  a 
case  of  shell  shock  —  a  pitiful  case  of  fear,  loss  of 
memory,  complete  prostration. 
372 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

The  nurse  was  a  plain  little  thing,  very  compe- 
tent, very  quiet.  She  was,  perhaps,  no  more  com- 
petent than  Hilda  in  the  mechanics  of  her  profes- 
sion, but  she  had  qualities  which  Hilda  lacked. 
She  was  not  very  young,  and  there  were  younger 
nurses  under  her.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  plainness  and 
quietness,  she  wielded  an  influence  which  was  re- 
markable. The  whole  hospital  force  was  feeling 
the  effect  of  that  influence.  It  was  as  if  every 
nurse  had  in  some  rather  high  and  special  way 
dedicated  herself  —  as  nuns  might  to  the  con- 
ventual life,  or  sisters  of  charity  to  the  service  of 
the  poor.  There  was  indeed  a  heroic  aspect  to  it,  a 
spiritual  aspect,  and  this  plain  little  woman  was 
setting  the  pace. 

And  Hilda,  coming  in,  would  spoil  it  all.  Oh,  he 
knew  how  she  would  spoil  it.  With  her  mocking 
laugh,  her  warped  judgments,  her  skeptical  point  of 
view. 

No,  he  did  not  want  Hilda.  The  best  in  him  did 
not  want  her,  and  please  God,  he  was  giving  his  best 
to  this  cause.  However  he  might  fail  in  other 
things,  he  would  not  fail  in  his  high  duty  towards 
the  men  who  came  out  of  battle  shattered  and 
broken,  holding  up  their  hands  to  him  for  help. 

"  I  am  going  to  let  Miss  Shelby  have  the  case," 

the  plain  little  nurse  was  saying,  "  when  he  begins 

to  come  back.     She  will  give  him  what  he  needs. 

She  is  so  strong  and  young,  so  sure  of  the  eternal 

373 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Tightness  of  things  —  and  she's  got  to  make  him 
sure." 

The  Doctor  nodded.  "  Some  of  us  are  not 
sure  — " 

She  agreed  gravely.  "  But  we  are  learning  to  be 
sure,  aren't  we,  over  here?  Don't  you  feel  that  all 
the  things  you  have  ever  done  are  little  compared 
to  this?  That  men  and  women  are  better  and  big- 
ger than  you  have  believed?  " 

"  If  anyone  could  make  me  feel  it,"  he  said,  "  it 
would  be  you." 

When  she  had  gone,  he  wrote  letters. 

He  wrote  to  Jean  —  he  wrote  every  day  to  Jean. 

He  wrote  to  Hilda. 

"  You  are  splendidly  fitted  for  just  the  thing  that 
you  are  doing.  Men  come  and  go  and  you  care  for 
their  wounds.  But  we  have  to  care  here  for  more 
than  men's  bodies,  we  care  for  their  minds  and 
souls  —  we  piece  them  together,  as  it  were.  And 
we  need  women  who  believe  that  God's  in  his 
Heaven.  And  you  don't  believe  it.  Hilda.  I 
fancy  that  you  see  in  every  man  his  particular 
devil,  and  like  to  lure  it  out  for  him  to  look  at  — " 

He  stopped  there.  He  could  see  her  reading  what 
he  had  written.  She  would  laugh  a  little,  and  write 
back: 

"  Are  you  any  better  than  I?     If  I  am  too  black 
to  herd  with  the  white  sheep,  what  of  you;  aren't 
you  tarred  with  the  same  brush — ?  " 
374 


THE  SINGING  WOMAN 

He  tore  up  the  letter  and  sent  a  brief  note.  Why 
explain  what  he  was  feeling  to  Hilda?  She  was  of 
those  who  would  never  know  nor  understand. 

And  he  felt  the  need  tonight  of  understanding  — 
of  sympathy. 

And  so  he  wrote  to  Emily. 


375 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHITE   VIOLETS 

BRUCE  MACKENZIE'S  letter  arriving  in  due  time  at 
the  Toy  Shop,  found  Emily  very  busy.  There  were 
many  women  to  be  instructed  how  to  do  things  with 
gauze  and  muslin  and  cotton,  so  she  tucked  the  let- 
ter in  her  apron  pocket.  But  all  day  her  mind 
went  to  it,  as  a  feast  to  be  deferred  until  the  time 
came  to  enjoy  it. 

In  the  afternoon  Ulrich  Stolle  arrived,  bearing 
the  inevitable  tissue  paper  parcel. 

"  Do  you  know  what  day  it  is?  "  he  asked. 

"  Thursday." 

"  There  are  always  Thursdays.  But  this  is  a  spe- 
cial Thursday." 

"Is  it?" 

"And  you  ask  me  like  that?  It  is  a  Thursday 
for  valentines." 

"  Of  course.  But  how  could  you  expect  me  to 
remember?  Nobody  ever  sends  me  valentines." 

"  My  father  has  sent  you  one."  It  was  a  heart- 
shaped  basket  of  pink  roses ;  "  but  mine  I  couldn't 
bring.  You  must  come  and  see  it.  Will  you  dine 
with  us  tonight?" 

376 


WHITE  VIOLETS 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  busy." 

"  You  are  not  too  busy  for  that.  Let  your  little 
Jean  take  charge." 

Jean,  all  in  white  with  her  white  veil  and  red 
crosses  was  more  than  ever  like  a  little  nun.  She 
was  remote,  too,  like  a  nun,  wrapped  not  in  the  con- 
templation of  her  religion,  but  of  her  love. 

She  still  made  toys,  and  the  proceeds  of  the  sale 
of  Lovely  Dreams  had  been  contributed  by  herself 
and  Emily  for  Bed  Cross  purposes.  There  were 
rows  and  rows  of  the  fantastic  creatures  behind 
glass  doors  on  the  shelves,  and  for  Valentine's  Day 
Jean  had  carved  and  painted  pale  doves  which  car- 
ried in  their  beaks  rosy  hearts  and  golden  arrows 
and  whose  wings  were  outspread  — . 

There  were  also  on  the  shelves  the  white  plush 
elephants  which  Franz  Stolle  and  his  friends  had 
made,  and  which  were,  too,  being  sold  to  swell  the 
Eed  Cross  fund. 

Thus  had  the  Toy  Shop  come  into  its  own.  "  I 
have  enough  to  live  on,"  Emily  had  said,  "  at  least 
for  a  while,  and  I  am  taking  no  more  chances  for 
future  living,  than  the  men  who  give  up  everything 
to  fight." 

So  enlisted  in  this  cause  of  mercy  as  men  had  en- 
listed in  the  cause  of  war,  Miss  Emily  led  where 
others  followed,  and  the  old  patriarch  of  all  the 
white  elephants,  who  had  been  born  in  a  country 
of  blood  and  iron,  looked  down  on  women  working 
377 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

to  heal  the  wounds  which  his  country  had  made. 

"  Let  your  little  Jean  look  after  things,"  Ulrich 
repeated. 

"  Do  you  mind,  my  dear?  " 

"  Mind  what,  Emily  —  ?  " 

"  If  I  go  with  Mr.  Stolle  —  to  see  his  father  about 
the  — toys." 

"  Darling  —  no ;"  Jean  kissed  her.  "  I  don't 
mind  in  the  least,  and  the  ride  will  do  you  good." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  see  my  father  about 
toys,"  Ulrich  told  her,  twinkling,  as  he  followed 
her  to  the  back  of  the  shop. 

"Do  you  think  I  was  going  to  tell  her  that?" 

She  put  on  her  coat  and  hat  and  off  she  went  with 
Ulrich,  leaving  still  unread  in  the  pocket  of  the  big 
apron  the  letter  which  Bruce  McKenzie  had  written 
her. 

All  the  way  out  Ulrich  was  rather  silent.  It  was 
not,  however,  the  silence  of  moodiness  or  dullness, 
it  was  rather  as  if  he  wanted  to  hear  her  speak.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  responsive,  stimulating  silence,  and 
she  glowed  under  his  glance. 

It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  talked,  that  these  adven- 
tures with  Ulrich  Stolle  were  in  every  way  the  most 
splendid  thing  that  had  happened  to  her.  They 
were  always  unexpected,  and  they  were  packed  to 
the  brim  with  pleasure  of  a  rare  quality. 

When  they  reached  their  destination,  Ulrich  took 
her  at  once  to  the  hothouses.  As  they  passed  down 
378 


WHITE  VIOLETS 

the  fragrant  aisles,  she  found  that  all  the  men  had 
gone,  their  day's  work  over;  only  she  and  Ulrich 
were  under  the  great  glass  roof. 

"Anton  comes  back  later,"  Ulrich  explained, 
"  but  at  this  hour  the  houses  are  empty,  and  dinner 
will  not  be  ready  for  an  hour.  We  have  it  all  to 
ourselves,  Emily." 

Her  name,  spoken  with  so  much  ease,  without  a 
sign  of  self-consciousness,  startled  her.  Her  in- 
quiring glance  showed  her  that  he  was  utterly  un- 
aware that  he  had  spoken  it.  Her  breath  came 
quickly. 

The  birds  sang  and  the  stream  sang,  and  suddenly 
her  heart  began  to  sing. 

You  see  it  had  been  so  many  years  since  Emily 
had  known  romance ; —  indeed,  she  had  never  known 
it  —  there  had  always  been,  in  her  mother's  time, 
her  sense  of  the  proper  thing,  and  her  sense  of  duty, 
and  her  sense  of  making  the  best  of  things  —  and 
now  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  there  was  no 
make-believe.  This  was  a  world  of  realities,  with 
Ulrich  leading  the  way,  his  hands  gathering  flowers 
for  her. 

He  stopped  at  last  at  the  entrance  of  a  sort  of 
grotto  where  great  ferns  towered  —  at  their  feet  was 
a  bed  of  white  violets. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  bring  it.     I 
came  here  this  morning  to  pick  the  violets  —  for  you 
—  to  let  them  say,  *  I  love  you  ' — " 
379 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Even  the  birds  seemed  silent,  and  the  little 
stream ! 

"  And  suddenly  they  spoke  to  me,  '  Let  her  see 
us  here,  where  you  have  so  often  thought  of  her. 
Tell  her  here  that  you  love  her  — ' 

"  How  much  I  love  you,"  and  now  she  found  her 
hands  in  his,  "  I  cannot  tell  you.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  thought  of  you  as  my  wife  is  so  exquisite 
that  I  cannot  believe  it  will  ever  come  to  pass. 
And  I  have  so  little  to  offer  you.  Even  my  name  is 
hated  because  it  is  a  German  name,  and  my  old 
house  is  German,  and  my  father  — 

"But  my  heart's  blood  is  for  America.  You 
know  that,  and  so  I  have  dared  to  ask  it,  not  that 
you  will  love  me  now,  but  that  you  may  come  to 
think  of  loving  me,  so  that  some  day  you  will  care 
a  little." 

The  birds  were  singing  madly,  the  streams  were 
shouting  —  Emily  was  trembling.  Nobody  had 
ever  wanted  her  like  this  —  nobody  had  ever  made 
her  feel  so  young  and  lovely  and  —  wanted  — .  She 
had  had  a  proposal  or  two,  but  there  had  been  al- 
ways the  sense  that  she  had  been  chosen  for  certain 
staid  and  sensible  qualities ;  there  had  been  nothing 
in  it  of  red  blood  and  rapture. 

"  If  you  should  come  to  us,  to  me  and  my  father, 
you  would  be  a  queen  on  a  throne.  If  you  could 
love  me  just  a  little  in  return  — " 

She  could  not  answer,  she  just  stood  looking  up 
380 


WHITE  VIOLETS 

at  him,  and  suddenly  his  arms  went  around  her. 
"  Tell  me,  beloved." 


An  hour  later  they  went  in  to  his  father,  and 
after  that  Emily  was  lifted  up  on  the  wings  of  an 
enthusiasm  which  left  her  breathless,  but  beatified. 
"  I  knew  when  I  first  saw  you  what  we  desired," 
said  the  old  man,  "  and  my  son  knew.  All  that  I 
have  is  yours  both  now  and  afterwards  — " 

Dinner  was  a  candle-lighted  feast,  with  heart- 
shaped  ices  at  the  end. 

"  How  sure  you  were,"  Emily  told  her  lover, 
smiling. 

"  I  was  not  sure.  But  I  set  the  stage  for  sue- 
cess.  It  was  only  thus  that  I  kept  up  my  courage. 
There  were  so  many  chances  that  the  curtain  might 
drop  on  darkness — ,"  his  hand  went  over  hers. 
"  If  it  had  been  that  way,  I  should  have  let  the  ices 
melt  and  the  violets  die  — ." 

After  dinner  they  went  over  the  house.  "Why 
should  we  wait,"  Ulrich  had  said,  "you  and  I? 
There  is  nothing  to  wait  for.  Tell  me  what  you 
want  changed  in  this  old  house,  and  then  come  to  it, 
and  to  my  heart." 

It  was,  she  found,  such  a  funny  old  place.  It  had 
been  furnished  by  men,  and  by  German  men  at  that. 
There  was  heaviness  and  stuffiness,  and  all  the  bric- 
a-brac  was  fat  and  puffy,  and  all  the  pictures  were 
381 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

highly-colored,  with  the  women  in  them  blonde  and 
buxom,  and  the  men  blond  and  bold  — . 

But  Ulrich's  room  was  not  stuffy  or  heavy.  The 
windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  walls  were  white, 
and  the  cover  on  the  canopy  bed  was  white,  and 
there  were  two  pictures,  one  of  Lincoln  and  one  of 
Washington,  and  that  was  all. 

"And  when  I  have  your  picture,  it  will  be  per- 
fect," he  told  her.  "  Where  I  can  see  you  when  I 
wake,  and  pray  to  you  before  I  go  to  sleep." 

"  But  why,"  she  probed  daringly,  "  do  you  want 
my  picture?  " 

"  Because  you  are  so  —  beautiful  — " 

It  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  such  worship 
went  to  Miss  Emily's  head.  She  slipped  out  of  the 
dried  sheath  of  the  years  which  had  saddened  and 
aged  her,  and  emerged  lovely  as  a  flower  over  which 
the  winter  has  passed  and  which  blooms  again. 

"  I  don't  want  to  change  anything,"  Emily  told 
her  lover  as  they  went  downstairs,  "  at  least  not 
very  much.  I  shall  keep  all  of  the  lovely  old  carved 
things  —  with  the  fat  cupids." 

As  she  lay  awake  that  night,  reviewing  it  all,  she 
thought  suddenly  of  Bruce  McKenzie's  letter  in  her 
apron  pocket.  The  apron  was  in  the  Toy  Shop,  and 
it  was  not  therefore  until  the  next  morning  that  she 
read  the  letter. 

In  it  Dr.  McKenzie  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  think  that  when  I  come  back, 

382 


WHITE  VIOLETS 

you  will  be  waiting  for  me,  Emily.  I  am  a  very 
lonely  man.  I  want  someone  who  will  sympathize 
and  understand.  I  want  someone  who  will  love 
Jean,  and  who  will  hold  me  to  the  best  that  is  in 
me,  and  you  can  do  that,  Emily;  you  have  always 
done  it/' 

It  was  a  rather  touching  letter,  and  she  felt  its 
appeal  strongly.  Indeed,  so  stern  was  her  sense  of 
self-sacrifice,  that  she  had  an  almost  guilty  feeling 
when  she  thought  of  Ulrich.  If  he  had  not  come 
into  her  life  at  the  psychological  moment,  she  might 
have  given  herself  to  Bruce  McKenzie. 

But  the  letter  had  come  too  late.  Oh,  how  glad 
she  was  that  she  had  left  it  in  her  apron  pocket ! 

She  answered  it  that  night. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  very  frank  with  you,  Bruce, 
because  in  being  frank  with  you  I  shall  be  frank 
with  myself.  If  Ulrich  Stolle  had  not  come  into 
my  life,  I  should  probably  have  thought  I  cared  for 
you.  Even  now  when  I  am  saying  *  no,'  I  realize 
that  your  charm  has  always  held  me,  and  that  the 
prospect  of  a  future  by  your  pleasant  fireside  holds 
many  attractions.  But  since  you  left  Washington, 
something  has  happened  which  I  never  expected, 
and  all  of  my  preconceived  ideas  of  myself  have 
been  overturned.  Bruce,  I  am  no  longer  the  Emily 
you  have  known  —  a  little  staid,  gray-haired,  with 
pretty  hands,  but  with  nothing  else  very  pretty 
about  her;  a  lady  who  would,  perhaps,  fill  grace- 
fully, a  position  for  which  her  aristocratic  nose  fits 
her.  I  am  no  longer  the  Emily  of  the  Toy  Shop, 
383 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

wearing  spectacles  on  a  black  ribbon,  eating  her 
lunches  wherever  she  can  get  them.  No,  I  arn  an 
Emily  who  is  young  and  beautiful,  a  sort  of  fairy- 
tale Princess,  an  Emily  who,  if  she  wishes,  shall  sit 
on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam,  but  who  doesn't 
wish  it  because  she  hates  to  sew,  and  would  much 
rather  work  in  her  silver-bell-and-cockle  shell  gar- 
den —  oh,  such  a  wonderful  garden  as  it  is ! 

"And  I  am  all  this,  Bruce,  I  am  young  and  beauti- 
ful and  all  the  rest,  because  I  am  seeing  myself 
through  the  eyes  of  my  lover. 

"He  is  Ulrich  Stolle,  as  I  have  said,  and  you 
mustn't  think  because  his  name  is  German  that  he 
is  to  be  cast  into  outer  darkness.  He  is  as  Ameri- 
can as  you  with  your  Scotch  blood,  or  as  I  with  my 
English  blood.  And  he  is  as  loyal  as  any  of  us. 
He  is  too  old  to  be  accepted  for  service,  but  he  is 
giving  time  and  money  to  the  cause. 

"  And  he  loves  me  rapturously,  radiantly,  roman- 
tically. He  doesn't  want  me  as  a  cushion  for  his 
tired  head,  he  doesn't  want  me  because  he  thinks  it 
would  be  an  act  of  altruism  to  provide  a  haven  for 
me  in  my  old  age,  he  wants  me  because  he  thinks  I 
am  the  most  remarkable  woman  in  the  whole  wide 
world,  and  that  he  is  the  most  fortunate  man  to 
have  won  me. 

"And  you  don't  feel  that  way  about  it,  Bruce. 
You  know  that  I  am  not  beautiful,  there  is  no  glam- 
our in  your  love  for  me.  You  know  that  I  am  not 
wonderful,  or  a  fairy  Princess — .  And  you  are 
right,  and  he  is  wrong.  But  it  is  his  wrongness 
which  makes  me  love  him.  Because  every  woman 
wants  to  be  beautiful  to  her  lover,  and  to  feel  that 
she  is  much  desired. 

384 


WHITE  VIOLETS 

"You  will  ask  why  I  am  telling  you  all  this. 
Well,  there  was  one  sentence  in  your  letter  which 
called  it  forth.  You  say  that  you  want  me  because 
I  will  hold  you  to  the  best  that  is  in  you. 

"Oh,  Bruce,  what  would  you  gain  if  I  held  you? 
Wouldn't  there  be  moments  when  in  spite  of  me 
you  would  swing  back  to  women  like  Hilda?  You 
are  big  and  fine,  but  you  are  spoiled  by  feminine 
worship  —  it  is  a  temptation  which  assails  clergy- 
men and  doctors  —  who  have,  as  it  were,  many 
women  at  their  feet. 

"  Does  that  sound  harsh  ?  I  don't  mean  it  that 
way.  I  only  want  you  to  come  into  your  own. 
And  if  you  ever  marry  I  want  you  to  find  some 
woman  whom  you  can  love  as  you  loved  your  wife, 
someone  who  will  touch  your  imagination,  set  you 
on  fire  with  dreams,  and  I  could  never  do  it. 

"  Yet  even  as  I  finish  this  letter,  I  am  tempted 
to  tear  it  up  and  tell  you  only  of  my  real  apprecia- 
tion of  the  honor  you  have  conferred  upon  me  in 
asking  me  to  be  your  wife.  I  know  that  you  are 
offering  me  more  in  many  ways  than  Urich  Stolle. 
I  don't  like  his  name,  because  something  rises  up 
in  me  against  Teuton  blood  and  Teuton  nomencla- 
ture. But  he  loves  me,  and  you  do  not,  and  be- 
cause of  his  love  for  me  and  mine  for  him,  every- 
thing else  seems  too  small  to  consider. 

"  Oh,  you'd  laugh  at  his  house,  Bruce,  but  I  love 
even  the  fat  angels  that  are  carved  on  everything 
from  the  mahogany  chests  to  the  soup  tureens.  It 
is  all  like  some  old  fairy-tale.  I  shall  make  few 
changes ;  it  seems  such  a  perfect  setting  for  Ulrich 
and  his  busy  old  gnome  of  a  father. 

"  When  you  get  this,  pray  for  my  happiness.  Oh, 
I  do  want  to  be  happv.  I  have  made  the  best  of 
* 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

things,  but  there  has  been  much  more  of  gray  than 
rose-color,  and  now  as  I  turn  my  face  to  the  setting 
sun,  I  am  seeing  —  loveliness  and  light  — " 

She  read  it  over  and  sealed  it  and  sent  it  away. 
It  was  several  weeks  before  it  reached  Doctor  Mc- 
Kenzie.  He  was  very  busy,  for  the  spring  drive  of 
the  Germans  had  begun,  and  shattered  men  were 
coming  to  him  faster  than  he  could  handle  them. 
But  he  found  time  at  last  to  read  it,  and  when  he 
laid  it  down  he  sat  quite  still  from  the  shock  of  it. 

And  the  next  time  he  saw  Drusilla  he  said  to  her, 
"  Emily  Bridges  is  going  to  be  married,  and  she  is 
not  going  to  marry  me." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  Drusilla  told  him. 

"  My  dear  girl,  why?  " 

•'*  Because  you  don't  love  her,  and  you  never  did." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

THE  great  spring  drive  of  the  Germans  brought 
headlines  to  the  papers  which  men  and  women  in 
America  read  with  dread,  and  scoffed  at  when  they 
talked  it  over. 

"  They'll  never  get  to  Paris,"  were  the  words  on 
their  lips,  but  in  their  hearts  they  were  asking, 
"  Will  they—  ?" 

Easter  came  at  the  end  of  March,  and  Good  Fri- 
day found  Jean  working  very  early  in  the  morning 
on  fawn-colored  rabbits  with  yellow  ears.  She 
worked  in  her  bedroom  because  it  was  warmed  by 
a  feeble  wood  fire,  and  Teddy  came  up  to  watch  her. 

"  The  yellow  in  their  ears  is  the  sun  shining 
through,"  Jean  told  him.  "  We  used  to  see  them 
in  the  country  on  the  path  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  the  light  from  the  west  made  their  ears  look 
like  tiny  electric  bulbs." 

Margaret-Mary  entranced  by  one  small  bunny 
with  a  splash  of  white  for  a  cotton  tail,  sang, 
"  Pitty  sing,  pitty  sing." 

"They  don't  weally  lay  eggs,  do  they?"  Teddy 
ventured. 

387 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"I  wouldn't  ask  such  questions  if  I  were  you, 
Teddy." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Because  you  might  find  out  that  they  didn't  lay 
eggs,  and  then  you'd  feel  terribly  disappointed." 

"  Well,  isn't  it  better  to  know?  " 

Jean  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  not  sure  —  it's  nice 
to  think  that  they  do  lay  eggs  —  blue  ones  and  red 
ones  and  those  lovely  purple  ones,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  if  they  don't  lay  them,  who  does?  " 

"  Hens,"  said  Teddy,  rather  unexpectedly,  "  and 
the  rab-yits  steal  them." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Hodgson.  And  she  says  that  she  ties  them  up 
in  rags  and  the  colors  come  off  on  the  eggs." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  listen  to  Hodgson." 

"  Why  not?    I  like  to  listen." 

"  Because  she  hasn't  any  imagination." 

"What's  Pagination?" 

They  were  getting  in  very  deep.  Jean  gave  it  up. 
"  Ask  your  mother,  Teddy." 

So  Teddy  sought  his  unfailing  source  of  informa- 
tion. "  What's  'magination,  Mother." 

"  It  is  seeing  things,  Teddy,  with  your  mind  in- 
stead of  your  eyes.  When  I  tell  you  about  the  poor 
little  children  in  France  who  haven't  any  food  or 
any  clothes  except  what  the  Red  Cross  gives  them, 
388 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

you  don't  really  see  them  with  your  eyes,  but  your 
miud  sees  them,  and  their  cold  little  hands,  and 
their  sad  little  faces  — " 

"Yes."  He  considered  that  for  a  while,  then 
swept  on  to  the  things  over  which  his  childish  brain 
puzzled. 

"  Mother,  if  the  Germans  get  to  Paris  what  will 
happen?" 

He  saw  the  horror  in  her  face. 

"  Do  you  hate  the  Germans,  Mother?  " 

"  My  darling,  don't  ask  me." 

After  he  had  gone  downstairs,  Margaret  got  out 
her  prayer-book,  and  read  the  prayers  for  the  day. 

"  Oh,  merciful  God,  who  hast  made  all  men  and 
hatest  nothing  that  thou  hast  made,  nor  desirest 
the  death  of  a  sinner,  but  rather  that  he  should  be 
converted  and  live,  have  mercy  on  all  Jews,  Turks, 
infidels  and  heretics,  and  take  from  them  all  ig- 
norance, hardness  of  heart,  and  contempt  of  Thy 
word,  and  so  fetch  them  home,  blessed  Lord,  to  Thy 
flock,  that  they  may  be  saved  — " 

She  shut  the  book.  No,  she  could  not  go  on. 
She  did  not  love  her  enemies.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  sure  that  she  wanted  the  Germans  to  be  saved ! 

On  Easter  morning,  however,  Teddy  was  in- 
structed to  pray  for  his  enemies.  "We  mustn't 
have  hate  in  our  hearts." 

"  Why  mustn't  we,  Mother?  " 
889 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"Well,  Father  wouldn't  want  it.  We  hate  the 
evil  they  do,  but  we  must  pray  that  they  will  be 
shown  their  wickedness  and  repent." 

"  If  they  re-pyent  will  they  stop  fighting?  " 

"  My  dearest,  yes." 

"  How  would  they  stop?  " 

Jean,  who  was  ready  for  church  and  waiting, 
warned,  "  You'd  better  not  try  to  give  an  answer  to 
that,  Margaret,  there  isn't  any." 

Teddy  ignored  her.  "  How  would  they  stop, 
Mother?  " 

"  Well,  they'd  just  stop,  dear  — " 

"  Would  they  say  they  were  sorry  ? 

Would  William  of  Prussia  ever  be  sorry? 

"  Can  God  stop  it,  Mother?  " 

Margaret  wrenched  her  mind  away  from  the  pic- 
ture which  his  words  had  painted  for  her,  the  Kaiser 
on  his  knees !  Miserere  mei,  Deus  — 

With  quick  breath,  "  Yes,  dear." 

"  Then  why  doesn't  He  stop  it,  Mother?  " 

Why?  Why?  Why?  Older  voices  were  asking 
that  question  in  agony. 

"  He  will  do  it  in  His  own  good  time,  dearest. 
Perhaps  the  world  has  a  lesson  to  learn." 

With  Teddy  walking  ahead  with  nurse,  Jean  pro- 
claimed to  Margaret,  "  I  shan't  pray  for  them." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel." 

"Shall  you?" 

"  Yes,"  desperately,  "  I  must." 
390 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Why  must  you?" 

"  Because  of  —  Win,"  Margaret  said  simply.  In 
her  widow's  black,  with  her  veil  giving  her  height 
and  dignity,  she  had  never  been  more  beautiful. 
"  Because  of  Win,  I  must.  There  are  wives  in  Ger- 
many who  suffer  as  I  suffer  —  who  are  not  to  blame. 
There  are  children,  like  my  children,  asking  the 
same  questions — .  This  drive  has  seemed  to  me 
like  the  slaughter  of  sheep,  with  a  great  Wolf  be- 
hind them,  a  Wolf  without  mercy,  sending  them 
down  to  destruction,  to  —  death  — " 

"And  the  Wolf—  ?" 

Margaret  raised  her  hand  and  let  it  drop,  "  God 
knows." 

And  now  soldiers  were  being  rushed  overseas. 
Trains  swept  across  the  land  loaded  with  men  who 
gazed  wistfully  at  the  peaceful  towns  as  they  passed 
through,  or  chafed  impotently  when,  imprisoned  in 
day  coaches,  they  were  side-tracked  outside  of  great 
cities. 

And  on  the  battle  line  those  droves  and  droves  of 
gray  sheep  were  driven  down  and  down  —  to  death 
—  by  the  Wolf. 

The  war  was  coming  closer  to  America.  A  look 
of  care  settled  on  the  faces  of  men  and  women  who 
had,  hitherto,  taken  things  lightly.  Fathers,  who 
had  been  very  sure  that  the  war  would  end  before 
their  sons  should  go  to  France,  faced  the  fact  that 
the  end  was  not  in  sight,  and  that  the  war  would 
391 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

take  its  toll  of  the  youth  of  America.  Mothers,  who 
had  not  been  sure  of  anything,  but  had  hidden  their 
fears  in  their  hearts,  stopped  reading  the  daily 
papers.  Wives,  who  had  looked  upon  the  camp  ex- 
periences of  their  husbands  as  a  rather  great  ad- 
venture, knew  now  that  there  might  be  a  greater 
adventure  with  a  Dark  Angel.  The  train-sheds  in 
great  cities  were  crowded  with  anxious  relatives 
who  watched  the  troops  go  through,  clutching  at  the 
hope  of  a  last  glimpse  of  a  beloved  face,  a  few 
precious  moments  in  which  to  say  farewell. 
Yes,  the  war  was  coming  near ! 
Derry  wrote  that  he  might  go  at  any  moment,  but 
hoped  for  a  short  furlough.  It  was  on  this  hope 
that  Jean  lived.  She  worked  tirelessly,  making 
the  much-needed  surgical  dressings.  When  Emily 
tried  to  get  her  to  rest,  Jean  would  shake  her  head. 
"Darling,  I  must.  They  are  bringing  the 
wounded  over." 

"  But  you  mustn't  get  too  tired." 
"  I  want  to  be  tired.     So  that  I  can  sleep." 
She  was  finding  it  hard  to  sleep.     Often  she  rose 
and  wrote  in  her  memory  book,  which  was  becoming 
in  a  sense  a  diary  because  she  confided  to  its  pages 
the  things  she  dared  not  say  to  Derry.     Some  day, 
perhaps,  she  might  show  him  what  she  had  written. 
But  that  would  be  when  the  war  was  over,  and 
Derry  had  come  back  safe  and  sound.     Until  then 
392 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

she  would  have  to  smile  in  her  letters,  and  she  did 
not  always  feel  like  smiling ! 

But  that  was  what  Derry  called  them,  "  Smiling 
letters ! " 

"  They  smile  up  at  me  every  morning,  Jean." 

So  she  wrote  to  him  bravely,  cheerfully,  of  her 
busy  days,  of  how  she  missed  him,  of  her  love  and 
longing,  but  not  a  word  did  she  say  of  her  world  as 
it  really  was. 

But  there  was  no  laughter  in  the  things  she  said 
to  the  old  memory  book. 

"  I  don't  like  big  houses  —  not  houses  like  this, 
with  grinning  porcelain  Chinese  gods  at  every  turn 
of  the  hall,  and  gold  dragons  on  the  bed-posts. 
There  are  six  of  us  here  besides  the  servants,  yet 
we  are  like  dwarfs  in  a  giant  palace.  Perhaps  if 
we  had  the  usual  fires  it  wouldn't  seem  quite  so 
forlorn.  But  the  china  in  the  cabinets  is  so  cold  — 
and  the  ceilings  are  so  high  —  and  the  marble 
floors  — . 

"  Perhaps  if  everyone  were  happy  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent. But  only  Emily  is  happy.  And  I  don't  see 
how  she  can  be.  She  is  going  to  marry  a  Hun! 
Of  course,  he  isn't  really,  and  he'd  be  a  darling  dear 
if  it  weren't  for  his  German  name,  and  his  German 
blood,  and  the  German  things  he  has  in  his  house. 
But  Emily  says  she  loves  his  house,  that  it  speaks 
to  her  of  a  different  Germany  —  of  the  sweet  old 
393 


TEE  TIN  SOLDIER 

gay  Germany  that  waltzed  and  sang  and  loved 
simple  things.  It  seems  so  funny  to  think  of  Emily 
in  love  —  she's  so  much  older  than  people  are  usu- 
ally when  they  are  engaged  and  married. 

"  But  Emily  is  the  only  happy  one,  except  the 
children,  and  I  sometimes  think  that  even  they  have 
the  shadow  on  them  of  the  dreadful  things  that 
are  happening.  Margaret-Mary  tries  to  knit,  and 
tires  her  stubby  little  fingers  with  the  big  needles, 
and  Teddy,  poor  chap,  seems  to  feel  that  he  must  be 
the  man  of  the  family  and  take  his  father's  place, 
and  he  is  pathetically  careful  of  his  mother. 

"  I  wonder  if  Margaret  feels  as  I  do  about  it  all? 
She  is  so  sweet  and  smiling  —  and  yet  I  know  how 
her  heart  weeps,  and  I  know  how  she  longs  for  her 
own  house  and  her  own  hearth  and  her  own  hus- 
band— 

"  Oh,  when  my  Derry  comes  back  safe  and  sound 
—  and  he  will  come  back  safe,  I  shall  say  it  over 
and  over  to  myself  until  I  make  it  true  —  when 
Derry  comes  back,  we'll  build  a  cottage,  with  win- 
dows that  look  out  on  trees  and  a  garden  —  and 
there'll  be  cozy  little  rooms,  and  we'll  take  Polly 
Ann  and  Muffin  —  and  live  happy  ever  after  — . 

"  I  wonder  how  father  stands  it  to  be  always  with 
people  who  are  sick?  I  never  knew  what  it  meant 
until  now.  The  General  is  an  old  dear  —  but  some- 
times when  I  sit  in  that  queer  room  of  his  with  its 
lacquer  and  gold  and  see  him  in  his  gorgeous  dress- 
394 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ing  gown,  I  feel  afraid.  It  is  rather  dreadful  to 
think  that  he  was  once  young  and  strong  like  Derry, 
and  that  he  will  never  be  young  and  strong  again. 

"  Oh,  I  want  the  war  to  end  —  I  want  Derry,  and 
sunshine  and  well  people.  It  seems  a  hundred 
years  since  I  did  anything  just  for  the  fun  of  doing 
it.  It  seems  a  million  years  since  Daddy  and  I 
drove  downtown  together  and  drank  chocolate 
sodas  — 

"  But  then  nobody  is  drinking  chocolate  sodas  — 
at  least  no  one  is  doing  it  light-heartedly.  You 
can't  be  light-hearted  when  the  person  you  love  best 
in  the  world  is  going  to  war.  You  can  be  brave,  and 
you  can  make  your  lips  laugh,  but  you  can't  make 
your  heart  laugh  —  you  can't  —  you  can't  — . 

"  I  talk  a  great  deal  to  the  women  who  come  to 
Emily's  Toy  Shop.  And  I  am  finding  out  that  some 
of  those  that  seem  fluffy-minded  are  really  very 
much  in  earnest.  There  is  one  little  blonde,  who 
always  wears  white  silk  and  chiffon,  she  looks  as  if 
she  had  just  stepped  from  the  stage.  And  at  first  I 
simply  scorned  her.  I  felt  that  she  would  be  the 
kind  to  leave  ravellings  in  her  wipes,  and  things 
like  that.  But  she  doesn't  leave  a  ravelling.  She 
works  slowly,  but  she  does  her  work  well  — .  But 
now  and  then  her  hands  tremble  and  the  tears  fall ; 
and  the  other  day  I  went  and  sat  down  beside  her 
and  I  found  out  that  her  husband  is  flying  in 
France,  and  that  her  two  brothers  are  at  the 
395 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

front —  And  one  of  them  is  among  the  missing; 
he  may  be  a  prisoner  and  he  may  be  dead  — .  And 
she  is  trying  to  do  her  bit  and  be  brave.  And  now 
I  don't  care  if  she  does  wear  her  earlocks  outside  of 
her  veil  and  load  her  hands  with  diamonds  —  she's 
a  dear  —  and  a  darling.  But  she's  scared  just  as  I 
am  —  and  as  Mary  Connolly  is,  and  as  all  the 
women  are,  though  they  don't  show  it — .  I  won- 
der if  Joan  of  Arc  was  afraid  —  in  her  heart  as  the 
rest  of  us  are?  Perhaps  she  wasn't,  because  she 
was  in  the  thick  of  it  herself,  and  we  aren't.  Per- 
haps if  we  were  where  we  could  see  it  and  have  the 
excitement  of  it  all,  we  should  lose  our  fear. 

"  But  when  women  tell  me  that  the  women  have 
the  worst  of  it  —  that  they  must  sit  at  home  and 
weep  and  wait,  I  don't  believe  it.  We  suffer  —  of 
course,  and  there's  the  thought  of  it  all  like  a  bad 
dream,  and  when  we  love  our  loved  ones  —  it  is 
heartbreak.  But  the  men  suffer,  daily,  in  all  the 
little  things.  The  thirst  and  the  vermin,  and  the 
cold  and  wet  —  and  the  noise  —  and  the  frightful- 
ness.  And  they  grow  tired  and  hungry  and  home- 
sick,—  and  death  is  on  every  side  of  them,  and  hor- 
ror — .  Some  of  the  women  who  come  to  the  shop 
sentimentalize  a  lot.  One  woman  recited,  '  Break, 
break,  break  — ,  the  other  day,  and  the  rest  of  them 
cried  into  the  gauze,  cried  for  themselves,  if  you 
please;  'For  men  must  work  and  women  must 
396 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

weep.'  And  then  my  little  blonde  told  them  what 
she  thought  of  them.  Her  name  is  l  Maisie,' 
wouldn't  you  know  a  girl  like  that  would  be  called 
*  Maisie'? 

" '  If  you  think,'  she  said, '  that  you  suffer  —  what 
in  God's  name  will  you  think  before  the  war  is  over? 
It  hasn't  touched  you.  You  won't  know  what  suf- 
fering means  until  your  men  begin  to  come  home. 
You  talk  about  hardships ;  not  one  of  you  has  gone 
hungry  yet  —  and  the  men  over  there  may  be  cut  off 
at  any  moment  from  food  supplies,  and  they  are  al- 
ways at  the  mercy  of  the  camp  cooks,  who  may  or 
may  not  give  them  things  that  they  can  eat.  And 
they  lie  out  under  the  stars  with  their  wounds,  and 
if  any  of  you  has  a  finger  ache,  you  go  to  bed  with 
hot  water  bottles  and  are  coddled  and  cared  for. 
But  our  boys, —  there  isn't  anyone  to  coddle  them 
—  they  have  to  stick  it  out.  And  wre've  got  to  stick 
it  out  —  and  not  be  sorry  for  ourselves.  Oh,  why 
should  we  be  sorry  for  ourselves?  '  The  tears  were 
streaming  down  her  cheeks  when  she  finished,  and 
a  gray -haired  woman  who  had  wept  with  the  others 
got  up  and  came  over  to  her.  '  My  dear,'  she  said, 
'  I  shall  never  pity  myself  again.  My  two  sons  are 
over  there,  and  I've  been  thinking  how  much  I  have 
given.  But  they  have  given  their  young  lives,  their 
futures  —  their  bodies,  to  be  broken  — '  And  then 
standing  right  in  the  middle  of  the  Toy  Shop  that 
397 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

mother  prayed  for  her  sons,  and  for  the  sons  of 
other  women,  and  for  the  husbands  and  lovers,  and 
that  the  women  might  be  brave. 

"  Oh,  it  was  wonderful  —  as  she  stood  there  like 
a  white-veiled  prophetess,  praying. 

"  Yet  a  year  ago  she  would  have  died  rather  than 
pray  in  public.  She  is  a  conservative,  aristocratic 
woman,  the  kind  that  doesn't  wear  rings  or  try  to 
be  picturesque  —  and  she  has  always  kept  her  feel- 
ings to  herself,  and  said  her  prayers  to  herself  —  or 
in  church,  but  never  in  all  her  life  has  she  been  so 
fine  as  she  was  the  other  day  praying  in  the  Toy 
Shop. 

"  Yet  in  a  way  I  am  sorry  for  myself.  Not  for 
me  as  I  am  to-day,  but  for  the  Jean  of  Yesterday, 
who  thought  that  patriotism  was  remembering  Bun- 
ker Hill! 

"  Of  course  in  a  way  it  is  that  —  for  Bunker  Hill 
and  Lexington  and  Valley  Forge  are  a  part  of  us 
because  our  grandfathers  were  there,  and  what  they 
felt  and  did  is  a  part  of  our  feeling  and  doing. 

"I  have  always  thought  of  those  old  days  as  a 
sort  of  picture  —  the  embattled  farmers  in  their 
shirt-sleeves  and  with  their  hair  blowing,  and  the 
Midnight  Hide,  and  the  lantern  in  the  old  North 
Church  —  and  the  Spirit  of  '76.  And  it  was  the 
same  with  the  Civil  War;  there  was  always  the 
vision  of  cavalry  sweeping  up  and  down  slopes  as 
they  do  in  the  movies,  and  of  the  bugles  calling,  and 
398 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

bands  playing  '  Marching  through  Georgia '  or 
'  Dixie '  as  the  case  might  be  —  and  flags  flying  — 
isn't  it  glorious  to  think  that  the  men  in  gray  are 
singing  to-day,  '  The  Star  Spangled  Banner '  with 
the  rest  of  us? 

"  But  my  thoughts  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
money,  though  I  suppose  people  gave  it  then,  as 
they  are  giving  now.  But  you  can't  paint  pictures 
of  men  and  women  making  out  checks,  and  children 
putting  thrift  stamps  in  little  books,  so  I  suppose 
that  in  future  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  the  emptied 
pocket-books  will  go  down  unsung  — . 

"  It  isn't  a  bit  picturesque  to  give  until  it  hurts, 
but  it  helps  a  lot.  I  saw  Sarah  Bernhardt  the  other 
day  in  a  wonderful  little  play  where  she's  a  French 
boy,  who  dies  in  the  end  —  and  she  dies,  exquisitely, 
with  the  flag  of  France  in  her  arms  —  the  faded, 
lovely  flag  —  I  shall  never  forget.  The  tears  ran 
down  my  cheeks  so  that  I -couldn't  see,  but  her  voice, 
so  faint  and  clear,  still  rings  in  my  ears  — 

"If  she  had  died  clutching  a  Liberty  Bond  or 
wearing  a  Red  Cross  button,  it  would  have  seemed 
like  burlesque.  Yet  there  are  men  and  women  who 
are  going  without  bread  and  butter  to  buy  Liberty 
Bonds,  and  who  are  buying  them  not  as  a  safe  in- 
vestment, as  rich  men  buy,  but  because  the  boys 
need  the  money.  And  there  ought  to  be  poems  writ- 
ten and  statues  erected  to  commemorate  some  of 
the  sacrifices  for  the  sake  of  the  Ked  Cross. 
399 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Yet  I  think  that,  in  a  way,  we  have  not  empha- 
sized enough  the  picturesque  quality  of  this  war, 
not  on  this  side.  They  do  it  in  France  —  they  wor- 
ship their  great  flyers,  their  great  generals,  their 
crack  regiments,  everything  has  a  personality,  they 
are  tender  with  their  shattered  cathedrals  as  if 
something  human  had  been  hurt,  and  the  result  is  a 
quickening  on  the  part  of  every  individual,  a  flam- 
ing patriotism  which  as  yet  we  have  not  felt.  We 
don't  worship  anything,  we  don't  all  of  us  know  the 
words  of  '  The  Star  Spangled  Banner ' ;  fancy  a 
Frenchman  not  knowing  the  words  of  the  '  Marseil- 
laise '  or  an  Englishman  forgetting  l  God  Save  the 
King.'  We  don't  shout  and  sing  enough,  we  don't 
cry  enough,  we  don't  feel  enough  —  and  that's  all 
there  is  to  it.  If  we  were  hot  for  the  triumph  of 
democracy,  there  would  be  no  chance  of  victory  for 
the  Hun.  Perhaps  as  the  war  comes  nearer,  we 
shall  feel  more,  and  every  day  it  is  coming 
nearer  — " 

It  was  very  near,  indeed.  Thousands  of  those 
gray  sheep  were  lying  dead  on  the  plains  of  Picardy 
—  the  Allies  fought  with  their  backs  to  the  wall  — 
Americans  who  had  swaggered,  secure  in  the  prow- 
ess of  Uncle  Sam,  swaggered  no  longer,  and  pon- 
dered on  the  parable  of  the  Wise  and  Foolish  Vir- 
gins. 

Slowly  the  nation  waked  to  what  was  before  it. 
In  America  now  lay  the  hope  of  the  world.  The 
400 


TEE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Wolf  must  be  trapped,  the  sheep  saved  in  spite  of 
themselves,  those  poor  sheep,  driven  blindly  to 
slaughter. 

The  General  was  not  quite  sure  that  they  were 
sheep,  or  that  they  were  being  driven.  He  held, 
rather,  that  they  knew  what  they  were  about  —  and 
were  not  to  be  pitied. 

Teddy,  considering  this  gravely,  went  back  to  pre- 
vious meditations,  and  asked  if  he  prayed  for  his 
enemies. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  why 
should  I?" 

"  Well,  Mother  says  we  must,  and  then  some  day 
they'll  stop  and  say  they  are  sorry  — " 

The  General  chuckled,  "  Your  mother  is  optimis- 
tic." 

"  What's  'nopt'mistic?" 

"It  means  always  believing  that  nice  things  will 
happen." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  nice  things  will  hap- 
pen?" 

"  Sometimes  — " 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  the  war  will  stop?  " 

"  Not  until  we've  thrown  the  full  force  of  our 
fighting  men  into  it  —  at  what  a  sacrifice." 

"  Can't  God  make  it  stop?  " 

"  He  can,  but  He  won't,  not  if  He's  a  God  of  jus- 
tice," said  this  staunch  old  patriot,  "  until  America 
has  brought  them  to  their  knees  — " 
401 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Will  they  say  they  are  sorry  then?  " 
"  It  won't  make  very  much  difference  what  they 
say—" 

But  Teddy,  having  been  brought  up  to  under- 
stand the  things  which  belong  to  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman,  had  his  own  ideas  on  the  subject. 
"Well,  I  should  think  they'd  ought  to  say  they 
were  sorry  — ." 


402 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MARCHING   FEET 

THE  end  of  April  brought  much  rain;  torrents 
swept  down  the  smooth  streets,  and  the  beauty  of 
the  carefully  kept  flower  beds  in  the  parks  was 
blurred  by  the  wet. 

The  General,  limping  from  window  to  window, 
chafed.  He  wanted  to  get  out,  to  go  over  the  hills 
and  far  away;  with  the  coming  of  the  spring  the 
wander-hunger  gripped  him,  and  with  this  restless 
mood  upon  him  he  stormed  at  Bronson. 

« It's  a  dog's  life." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Bronson,  dutifully. 

"  It  is  dead  lonesome,  Bronson,  and  I  can't  keep 
Jean  tied  here  all  of  the  time.  She  is  looking  pale, 
don't  you  think  she  is  looking  pale?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  think  she  misses  Mr.  Derry." 

"  Well,  she'll  miss  him  a  lot  more  before  she  gets 
him  back,"  grimly.  "  He'll  be  going  over  soon  — " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  wish  I  were  going,"  the  old  man  was  wistful. 
"  Think  of  it,  Bronson,  to  be  over  there  —  in  the 
thick  of  it,  playing  the  game,  instead  of  rotting 
here—" 

403 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

It  was,  of  course,  the  soldier's  point  of  view. 
Bronson,  being  hopelessly  civilian,  did  his  best  to 
rise  to  what  was  expected  of  him.  "  You  like  it 
then,  sir?  " 

"Like  it?  It  is  the  only  life.  We've  lost  some- 
thing since  men  took  up  the  game  of  business  in 
place  of  the  game  of  fighting." 

"  But  you  see,  sir,  there's  no  blood  —  in  busi- 
ness," Bronson  tried  to  put  it  delicately. 

"Isn't  there?  Why,  more  men  are  killed  in  ac- 
cidents in  factories  than  are  killed  in  war  —  mur- 
dered by  money-greedy  employers." 

"  Oh,  sir,  not  quite  that." 

"  Yes,  quite,"  was  the  irascible  response.  "  You 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Bronson. 
Read  statistics  and  find  out." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Will  you  have  your  lunch  up  now, 
sir?" 

"  I'll  get  it  over  and  then  you  can  order  the  car 
for  me." 

"But  the  rain—?" 

"  I  like  rain.     I'm  not  sugar  or  salt." 

Bronson,  much  perturbed,  called  up  Jean.  "  The 
General's  going  out." 

"  Oh,  but  he  mustn't,  Bronson." 

"  I  can't  say  l  mustn't '  to  him,  Miss,"  Bronson 
reported  dismally.  "  You'd  better  see  what  you 
can  do  — " 

But  when  Jean  arrived,  the  General  was  gone ! 
404 


MARCHINa  FEET 

"  We'll  drive  out  through  the  country,"  the  old 
man  had  told  his  chauffeur,  and  had  settled  back 
among  his  cushions,  his  cane  by  his  side,  his  foot 
up  on  the  opposite  seat  to  relieve  him  of  the  weight. 

And  it  was  as  he  rode  that  he  began  to  have  a 
strange  feeling  about  that  foot  which  no  longer 
walked  or  bore  him  lightly. 

How  he  had  marched  in  those  bygone  days !  He 
remembered  the  first  time  he  had  tried  to  keep  step 
with  his  fellows.  The  tune  had  been  Yankee 
Doodle  —  with  a  fife  and  drum  —  and  he  was  a  raw 
young  recruit  in  his  queer  blue  uniform  and  visored 
cap — . 

And  how  eager  his  feet  had  been,  how  strongly 
they  had  borne  him,  spurning  the  dust  of  the  road 
—  as  they  would  bear  him  no  more  — . 

There  were  men  who  envied  him  as  he  swept  past 
them  in  the  rain,  men  who  felt  that  he  had  more 
than  his  share  of  wealth  and  ease,  yet  he  would  have 
made  a  glad  exchange  for  the  feet  which  took  them 
where  they  willed. 

He  came  at  last  to  one  of  his  old  haunts,  a  small 
stone  house  on  the  edge  of  the  Canal.  From  its 
wide  porch  he  had  often  watched  the  slow  boats  go 
by,  with  men  and  women  and  children  living  in 
worlds  bounded  by  weather-beaten  decks.  To-day 
in  the  rain  there  was  a  blur  of  lilac  bushes  along 
the  tow  path,  but  no  boats  were  in  sight ;  the  Canal 
was  a  ruffled  gray  sheet  in  the  April  wind. 
405 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

Lounging  in  the  low-ceiled  front  room  of  the  stone 
house  were  men  of  the  type  with  whom  he  had  once 
foregathered  —  men  not  of  his  class  or  kind,  but 
interesting  because  of  their  very  differences  —  hu- 
man derelicts  who  had  welcomed  him. 

But  now,  for  the  first  time  he  was  not  one  of 
them.  They  eyed  his  elegances  with  suspicion  — 
his  fur  coat,  his  gloves,  his  hat  —  the  man  whose 
limousine  stood  in  front  of  the  door  was  not  one  of 
them ;  they  might  beg  of  him,  but  they  would  never 
call  him  "  Brother." 

So,  because  his  feet  no  longer  carried  him,  and 
he  must  ride,  he  found  himself  cast  out,  as  it  were, 
by  outcasts. 

He  ordered  meat  and  drink  for  them,  gave  them 
money,  made  a  joke  or  two  as  he  limped  among 
them,  yet  felt  an  alien.  He  watched  them  wist- 
fully, seeing  for  the  first  time  their  sordidness,  see- 
ing what  he  himself  had  been,  more  sordid  than  any, 
because  of  his  greater  opportunities. 

Sitting  apart,  he  judged  them,  judged  himself. 
If  all  the  world  were  like  these  men,  what  kind  of 
world  would  it  be? 

"Why  aren't  you  fellows  fighting?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

They  stared  at  him.  Grumbled.  Why  should 
they  fight?  One  of  them  wept  over  it,  called  him- 
self too  old  — . 

But  there  were  young  men  among  them.  "  For 
406 


MARCHING  FEET 

God's  sake  get  out  of  this  —  let  me  help  you  get 
out."  The  General  stood  up,  leaned  on  his  cane. 
"  Look  here,  I've  done  a  lot  of  things  in  my  time  — 
things  like  this  — "  his  arm  swept  out  towards  the 
table,  "  and  now  I've  only  one  good  foot  —  the  other 
will  never  be  alive  again.  But  you  young  chaps, 
you've  got  two  good  feet  —  to  march.  Do  you  know 
what  that  means,  to  march  ?  Left,  right,  left,  right 
and  step  out  bravely  — .  Yankee  Doodle  and  your 
heads  up,  flags  flying?  And  you  sit  here  like  this?  " 

Two  of  the  men  had  risen,  young  and  strong. 
The  General's  cane  pounded  —  he  had  their  eyes! 
"  Left,  right,  left,  right  —  all  over  the  world  men 
are  marching,  and  you  sit  here  — " 

The  years  seemed  to  have  dropped  from  him. 
His  voice  rang  with  a  fire  that  had  once  drawn  men 
after  him.  He  had  led  a  charge  at  Gettysburg,  and 
his  men  had  followed ! 

And  these  two  men  would  follow  him.  He  saw 
the  dawn  of  their  resolve  in  their  faces.  "  There's 
fine  stuff  in  both  of  you,"  he  said,  "  and  the  country 
needs  you.  Isn't  it  better  to  fight  than  to  sit  here? 
Get  into  my  car  and  I'll  take  you  down." 

"Aw,  what's  eatin'  you,"  one  of  the  older  men 
growled.  "  What  game's  this?  Recruitin'?  " 

But  the  young  men  asked  no  questions.  They 
came  —  glad  to  come.  Roused  out  of  a  lethargy 
which  had  bound  them.  Waked  by  a  ringing  old 
voice. 

407 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

The  General  was  rather  quiet  when  he  reached 
home.  Jean  and  Bronson,  who  had  suffered  tor- 
ments, watched  him  with  concerned  eyes.  And,  as 
if  he  divined  it,  he  laid  his  hand  over  Jean's.  "  I 
did  a  good  day's  work,  my  dear.  I  got  two  men  for 
the  Army,  and  I'm  going  to  get  more  — " 

And  he  did  get  more.  He  went  not  only  in  the 
rain,  but  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  when  the  old 
fruit  trees  bloomed  along  the  tow  path,  and  the 
backs  of  the  mules  were  shining  black,  and  the 
women  came  out  on  deck  with  their  washing. 

And  always  he  spoke  to  the  men  of  marching 
feet — .  Now  and  then  he  sang  for  them  in  that 
thin  old  voice  whose  thinness  was  so  overlaid  by  the 
passion  of  his  patriotism  that  those  who  listened 
found  no  flaw  in  it. 

"  He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  has  never  called  re- 
treat, 

He  is  sifting  forth  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  Judgment  seat, 
O  be  swift  my  soul  to  answer  him,  be  jubilant  my  feet, 
Our  God  is  marching  on  — " 

There  was  no  faltering  now,  no  fumbled  words. 
With  head  up,  singing — "  Be  jubilant,  my  feet — " 

Sometimes  he  took  Jean  with  him,  but  not  always. 
"  There  are  places  that  I  don't  like  to  have  you  go, 
my  dear,  but  those  are  where  I  get  my  men." 

At  other  times  when  he  came  out  to  where  she 
sat  in  the  car  there  would  flash  before  his  eyes  the 
408 


MARCHING  FEET 

vision  of  his  wife's  face,  as  she,  tpo,  had  once  sat 
there,  waiting  — 

Sometimes  he  took  the  children,  and  rode  with 
them  on  a  slow-moving  barge  from  one  lock  to  an- 
other, with  the  limousine  meeting  them  at  the  end. 

So  he  travelled  the  old  paths,  innocently,  as  he 
might  have  travelled  them  throughout  the  years. 

Yet  if  he  thought  of  those  difficult  years,  he  said 
never  a  word.  He  felt,  perhaps,  that  there  was 
nothing  to  say.  He  took  to  himself  no  credit  for 
the  things  he  was  doing.  If  age  and  infirmity  had 
brought  to  him  a  realization  of  all  that  he  had 
missed,  he  was  surely  not  to  be  praised  for  doing 
that  which  was,  obviously,  his  duty. 

Yet  it  gave  him  a  new  zest  for  life,  and  left  Jean 
freer  than  she  had  been  before.  It  left  her,  too, 
without  the  fear  of  him,  which  had  robbed  their 
relationship  of  all  sense  of  security. 

"  You  see,  I  never  knew,"  she  wrote  in  her  mem- 
ory book,  "  what  might  happen.  I  had  visions  of 
myself  going  after  him  in  the  night  as  Derry  had 
gone  and  his  mother.  I  used  to  dream  about  it, 
and  dread  it." 

Yet  she  had  said  nothing  of  her  dread  to  Derry  in 
her  smiling  letters,  and  as  men  think  of  women,  he 
had  thought  of  her  in  the  sick  room  as  a  guardian 
angel,  shining  and  serene. 


409 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

And  now,  faint  and  far  came  to  the  men  in  the 
cantonments  the  sound  of  battles  across  the  sea. 
The  bugles  calling  them  each  morning  seemed  to 
say,  "  Soon,  soon,  you  will  go,  you  will  go,  you  will 
go-" 

To  Derry,  listening,  it  seemed  the  echo  of  the 
fairy  trumpets,  "  Trutter-a-trutt,  trutter-a-trutt ,  you 
will  go,  you  will  go,  you  will  go  — " 

It  was  strange  how  the  thought  of  it  drew  him, 
drew  him  as  even  the  thoughts  of  Jean  his  bride 
did  not  draw — .  He  remembered  that  years  ago 
he  had  smiled  with  a  tinge  of  tolerant  sophistication 
over  the  old  lines : 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more — " 

Yet  here  it  was,  a  truth  in  his  own  life.  A 
woman  meaning  more  to  him  than  she  could  ever 
have  meant  in  times  of  peace,  because  he  could  go 
forth  to  fight  for  her,  his  life  at  stake,  for  her.  It 
was  for  her,  and  for  other  women  that  his  sword 
was  unsheathed. 

"  If  only  they  could  understand  it,"  he  wrote  to 
Jean.  "  You  haven't  any  idea  what  rotten  letters 
some  of  the  women  write.  Blaming  the  men  for  go- 
ing over  seas.  Blaming  them  for  going  into  it  at 
all.  Taking  it  as  a  personal  offense  that  their 
lovers  have  left  them.  <  If  you  had  loved  me,  you 
410 


MARCHING  FEET 

couldn't  have  left  me,'  was  the  way  one  woman  put 
it,  and  I  found  a  poor  fellow  mooning  over  it  and 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  *  It  isn't  a  ques- 
tion of  what  we  want  to  do,  it  is  a  question  of  what 
we've  got  to  do,  if  we  call  ourselves  men,'  he  said. 
But  she  couldn't  see  that,  she  was  measuring  her 
emotions  by  an  inch  rule. 

"  But,  thank  God,  most  of  the  women  are  the  real 
thing  —  true  as  steel  and  brave.  And  it  is  those 
women  that  the  men  worship.  It  is  a  masculine 
trait  to  want  to  be  a  sort  of  hero  in  the  eyes  of  the 
woman  you  love.  When  she  doesn't  look  at  it  that 
way,  your  plumes  droop !  " 

And  now  the  bugles  rang  with  a  clearer  note  — 
not,  "  You  will  go,  you  will  go  — "  but,  "  Do  not 
wait,  do  not  wait,  do  not  wait." 

The  cry  from  abroad  was  Macedonian.  "  Come 
over  and  help  us !  "  It  was  to  America  that  the 
ghosts  of  those  fighting  hordes  appealed. 

"  Take  up  our  quarrel  with  the  foe, 
To  you  from  falling  hands  we  throw 
The  torch  —  be  yours  to  hold  it  high. 
If  ye  break  faith  with  us  who  die, 
We  shall  not  sleep,  though  poppies  grow 
In  Flanders'  field  — " 

Gradually  there  had  grown  up  in  the  hearts  of 
simple  men  a  flaming  response  to  that  sacred  charge. 
Men  whose  dreams  had  never  reached  beyond  a 
411 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

day's  frivolity,  found  springing  up  in  their  souls  a 
desire  to  do  some  deed  to  match  that  of  the  other 
fellow  who  slept  "  in  Flanders  field." 

"  To  you  from  falling  hands  we  throw  the  torch  — 
be  yours  to  hold  it  high  — ,"  the  little  man  who  had 
measured  cloth  behind  a  counter,  the  boy  who  had 
sold  papers  on  the  streets,  the  bank  clerk  who  had 
bent  over  his  books,  the  stenographer  who  had  been 
bound  to  the  wheel  of  everlasting  dictation,  were 
lighted  by  the  radiance  of  that  vision,  "  to  hold  it 
high—." 

"  Gee,  I  never  used  to  think,"  said  Tommy  Tracy, 
"that  I  might  have  a  chance  to  do  a  stunt  like 
that," 

"  Like  what?  "  Derry  asked. 

Tommy  found  it  a  thing  rather  hard  to  express. 
"Well,  when  you've  been  just  a  common  sort  of 
chap,  to  die  —  for  the  other  fellow  — " 

So  men's  bodies  grew  and  their  muscles  hardened. 
But  their  souls  grew,  too,  expanding  to  the  breadth 
and  height  of  the  things  which  were  waiting  for 
them  to  do  across  the  sea. 

And  one  morning  Derry  was  granted  a  furlough, 
and  started  home.  He  sent  no  word  ahead  of  him. 
He  wanted  to  come  upon  them  unawares.  To  catch 
the  light  that  would  be  on  Jean's  face  when  she 
looked  up  and  saw  him. 

There  was  rain  and  more  rain  when  at  last  he 
arrived  in  Washington.  The  trees  as  his  taxi 
412 


MARCHING  FEET 

traversed  the  wide  avenues  showed  clear  green, 
melting  into  vistas  of  amethyst  and  gray.  The 
parks  as  he  passed  were  starred  with  the  bright  yel- 
low and  pinks  of  flowering  shrubs.  Washington, 
in  spite  of  the  rain,  was  as  lovely  as  a  woman 
whose  color  blooms  behind  a  veil. 

He  came  into  the  great  house  unannounced,  hav- 
ing his  key  with  him.  The  General  was  out  for  a 
ride,  the  children  with  him,  Margaret  and  Emily 
and  Jean  away,  the  servants  in  the  back  of  the 
house. 

Derry,  going  up  the  stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time, 
stopped  on  the  landing  with  head  uncovered  to  greet 
his  mother. 

Oh,  lovely  painted  lady,  is  this  the  little  white- 
faced  lad  you  loved,  the  big  bronzed  man,  fresh  from 
hardships,  strong  in  the  sense  of  the  thing  he  has  to 
do? 

No  promise  made  to  you  could  hold  him  now.  He 
has  weighed  your  small  demands  in  the  balance  with 
the  world's  great  need. 

He  did  not  tarry  long.  Straight  as  an  eagle  to 
its  mate,  he  swept  through  the  hall  and  knocked  at 
the  door  of  Jean's  room.  There  was  no  response. 
He  knocked  again,  turned  the  handle,  entered,  and 
found  the  room  empty.  The  tin  soldier  on  the  shelf 
shouted,  "  Welcome,  welcome  —  comrade,"  but 
Derry  had  no  ears  to  hear.  Everywhere  were  signs 
of  Jean ;  her  fat  memory  book  open  on  her  desk,  the 
413 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

ivory  and  gold  appointments  of  her  dressing  table, 
her  pink  slippers,  her  prayer  book  —  his  own  pic- 
ture with  flowers  in  front  of  it  as  before  a  shrine. 

"  My  dear,  my  darling,"  his  heart  said  when  he 
saw  that.  What,  after  all,  was  he  that  she  should 
worship  him? 

Impatient,  he  rang  for  Bronson,  and  the  old  man 
came  —  bewildered,  hurried,  joyful.  "  It's  a  great 
surprise,  sir,  but  it's  good  to  see  you." 

"  It's  good  to  see  you,  Bronson.  Where's  Miss 
Jean?" 

"  At  Miss  Emily's  shop,  sir." 

"As  late  as  this?" 

"  Sometimes  later.  She  tries  to  get  home  in  time 
for  dinner." 

"Where's  Dad?" 

"Driving  with  the  children,  and  the  ladies  are 
out  on  war  work." 

A  year  ago  women  had  played  bridge  at  this  hour 
in  the  afternoon,  but  there  was  no  playing  now. 

"  Don't  tell  Dad  that  I  am  here.  I'll  come  back 
presently  with  Mrs.  Drake." 

And  now  down  the  hall  came  an  old  gray 
dog,  wild  with  delight,  outracing  Polly  Ann,  who 
thought  it  was  a  play  and  leaped  after  him  —  Muf- 
fin had  found  his  master ! 

But  Derry  left  Muffin,  left  Bronson,  left  Polly 
Ann,  a  wistful  trio  at  the  front  door.  He  must 
find  Jean! 

414 


MARCHING  FEET 

The  day  was  darkening,  and  a  light  burned  far 
back  on  the  Toy  Shop.  Derry,  standing  outside, 
saw  a  room  which  was  the  very  wraith  of  the  gay 
little  shop  as  he  had  left  it  —  with  its  white  tables, 
its  long  counters  piled  high  with  finished  dressings ; 
the  white  elephants  in  a  spectral  row  behind  glass 
doors  on  the  top  shelf  the  only  reminder  of  what 
it  once  had  been. 

He  saw,  too,  a  small  nun-like  figure  behind  the 
counter,  a  figure  all  in  white,  writh  a  wrhite  veil 
banded  about  her  forehead  and  flowing  down  be- 
hind. 

All  of  her  bright  hair  was  hidden,  her  eyes  were 
on  the  compresses  that  she  was  counting.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  sharpened  look  on 
the  little  face. 

He  had  not  expected  this.  He  had  felt  that  he 
would  find  her  glowing  as  she  had  been  on  that  first 
night  when  he  had  followed  his  father  through  the 
rain  —  his  dream  had  been  of  crinkled  copper  hair, 
of  silver  and  rose,  of  youth  and  laughter  and  light- 
ness — . 

Her  letters  had  been  like  that  —  gay,  sparkling 
—  there  had  been  times  when  they  had  seemed  al- 
most too  exuberant,  times  when  he  had  wondered  if 
she  had  really  waked  to  the  seriousness  of  the  great 
struggle,  and  the  part  he  was  to  play  in  it. 

Yet  now  he  saw  signs  of  suffering.     He  opened 
the  door.     "  Jean,"  he  cried. 
415 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

With  the  blood  all  drained  from  her  face,  she 
stared  at  him  as  if  she  saw  a  specter  — "  Derry," 
she  whispered. 

With  his  strong  arms,  he  lifted  her  over  the  coun- 
ter. "Jean-Joan,  Jean-Joan — " 

When  at  last  she  released  herself,  it  was  to  laugh 
through  her  tears.  "  Derry,  pull  down  the  shades ; 
what  will  people  think?  " 

He  cared  little  what  people  would  think.  And, 
anyway?  very  few  people  were  passing  at  that  late 
hour  in  the  rain.  But  he  pulled  them  down,  and 
when  he  came  back,  he  held  her  off  at  arm's  length. 
"What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself,  dearest? 
You  are  a  feather-weight." 

"  Well,  I've  been  working." 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  you  are  here  alone?  " 

"Emily  had  to  go  down  to  order  supplies,  and 
Margaret  went  to  a  Liberty  Loan  meeting.  I  often 
stay  like  this  to  count  and  tie." 

"  Don't  you  get  dreadfully  tired?  " 

"  Yes.  But  I  think  I  like  to  get  tired.  It  keeps 
<Jie  from  thinking  too  much." 

He  drew  her"  to  him.  "  Take  off  your  veil,"  he 
Raid,  almost  roughly.  "  I  want  to  see  your  hair." 

Divested  of  her  headcovering,  she  was  more  like 
herself,  but  even  then  he  was  not  content.  He 
loosed  a  hairpin  here  and  there  and  ran  his  fin- 
gers through  the  crinkled  gold.  "  If  you  knew  how 
I've  dreamed  of  it,  Jean-Joan." 
416 


MARCHING  FEET 

But  he  had  not  dreamed  of  the  dearness  of  the 
little  face.  "  My  darling,  you  have  been  pining,  and 
I  didn't  know  it.'' 

"  Well,  didn't  you  like  my  smiling  letters?  " 

"  So  that  was  it?  You've  been  trying  to  cheer 
me  up,  and  letting  yourself  get  like  this." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  worry  you." 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  I'd  want  to  be  worried 
with  anything  that  pertained  to  you?  What's  a 
husband  for,  dearest,  if  you  can't  tell  him  your 
troubles?  " 

"  Yes,  but  a  soldier-husband,  Derry,  is  different. 
You've  got  to  keep  smiling  — " 

Her  lips  trembled  and  she  clung  to  him.  "  It  is 
so  good  to  have  you  here,  Derry." 

She  admitted,  later,  that  she  had  confided  her 
troubles  to  her  memory  book.  "  There  weren't  any 
big  things,  really  —  just  missing  you  and  all 
that—" 

He  was  jealous  of  the  memory  book.  "  I  shall 
read  every  word  of  it." 

"  Not  until  you  come  back  from  the  war  —  and 
then  we  can  laugh  at  it  together." 

They  fell  into  silence  after  that.  With  his  arms 
about  her  he  thought  that  he  might  not  come  back, 
and  she  clinging  to  him  had  the  same  thought.  But 
neither  told  the  other. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  at  last,  sitting  up  and 
sticking  the  hairpins  into  her  crinkled  knot.  "  Do 
417 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

you  know  that  it's  almost  time  for  dinner,  and  that 
the  General  will  wonder  where  I  am?  " 

"  I  told  Bronson  not  to  tell  him." 

"Oh,  really,  Derry?  Let's  make  it  a  great  sur- 
prise." 

Providentially  the  General  was  late.  He  and  the 
children  came  home  to  find  the  house  quite  remark- 
ably illumined,  and  Margaret  flushed  and  excited, 
and  in  white. 

"  Is  it  a  party,  Mother?  "  Teddy  asked,  lending 
his  shoulder  manfully  to  the  General's  hand,  as, 
with  the  chauffeur  on  the  other  side,  they  helped 
the  old  man  up  the  stairs. 

"  No,  but  on  such  a  rainy  night  Bronson  and  I 
thought  we'd  have  a  little  feast.  Don't  you  think 
that  would  be  fun?  " 

The  General  was  tired.  "  I  had  planned  not  to 
come  down  again  — " 

"  Please  do,"  she  begged. 

Bronson,  knowing  his  master's  moods,  was  on  tip- 
toe with  anxiety.  "  I've  your  things  all  laid  out, 
sir." 

"  Well,  well,  I'll  see." 

Teddy,  somewhat  out  of  breath  as  they  reached 
the  top  landing  was  inspired  to  remark,  "  We'll  be 
'spointed  if  you  don't  come  down  — " 

"You  want  me,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.     There  isn't  any  other  man  — " 

Jhe  General  chuckled.  "Well,  that's  reason 
418 


MARCHING  FEET 

enough  — .     You  can  count  on  nie,  Ted,  for  mascu- 
line support." 

The  table  was  laid  for  six.  Teddy  appearing 
presently  in  the  dining  room  pointed  out  the  fact  to 
Bronson,  who  was  taking  a  last  look. 

"  Is  Margaret-Mary  coming  down?  " 

"  She  may  later,  for  the  sweets." 

"  Those  aren't  her  spoons  and  forks." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Bronson,  "  so  they  aren't " ; 
but  he  did  not  have  them  changed. 

The  General  in  his  dinner  coat,  perfectly  groomed, 
immaculate,  found  Jean  in  rose  and  silver  waiting 
for  him. 

"  How  gay  we  are,"  he  said,  and  pinched  her 
cheek. 

Teddy  in  white  linen  and  patent  leathers  also 
approved.  "You've  got  on  your  spangly  dwess, 
and  it  makes  you  pwetty  — " 

"Oh,  Ted,  is  it  just  my  clothes  that  make  me 
pretty?" 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  Only  tonight  you're  so 
nice  and  —  shining." 

She  shone,  indeed,  with  such  effulgence,  that  it 
was  a  wonder  that  the  General  did  not  suspect. 
But  he  did  not,  even  when  she  said,  "  We  have  a 
surprise  for  you." 

"  For  me,  my  dear?  " 

"  Yes.    A  parcel  —  it  came  this  afternoon.     We 
want  you  to  untie  the  string." 
419 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  Where  is  it?  "  Teddy  demanded. 

"  On  the  table  in  the  blue  room." 

Teddy  rushed  in  ahead  of  the  rest,  came  back  and 
reported,  "  It's  a  big  one." 

It  was  a  big  one,  cone-shaped  and  tied  up  in 
brown  paper.  It  was  set  on  a  heavy  carved  table, 
a  length  of  tapestry  was  under  it  and  hid  the  legs 
of  the  table. 

"It  looks  like  a  small  tree,"  the  General  re- 
marked. "  But  why  all  this  air  of  mystery?  " 

He  was  plainly  bored  by  the  fuss  they  were  mak- 
ing. He  was  tired,  and  he  wanted  his  dinner. 

But  Jean,  in  an  excited  voice,  was  telling  him  to 
cut  the  string,  and  Bronson  was  handing  him  a 
knife. 

And  then  —  the  paper  dropped  and  everybody 
was  laughing,  and  Teddy  was  screaming  wildly  and 
he  was  staring  at  the  khaki-clad  upper  half  of  a 
tall  young  soldier  whose  silver-blond  hair  was 
clipped  close,  and  whose  hand  went  up  in  salute. 

"  It's  Cousin  Derry.  It's  Cousin  Derry,"  Teddy 
was  shouting,  and  Margaret-Mary  piped  up,  "  It's 
Tousin  Dee." 

Derry  stepped  out  from  behind  the  table,  where 
leaning  forward  and  wrapped  up  he  had  lent  him- 
self to  the  illusion,  and  put  both  hands  on  the  Gen- 
eral's shoulders.  "  Glad  to  see  me,  Dad?  " 

"  Glad,  my  dear  boy  — "  It  was  almost  too  much 
for  him. 

420 


MARCHING  FEET 

Yet  as  supported  by  his  son's  arm,  they  went  a 
moment  later  into  the  dining  room,  he  had  a  sense 
of  renewed  strength  in  the  youth  and  vigor  of  this 
youth  who  was  bone  of  his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh. 
If  his  own  feet  could  not  march  here  were  feet 
which  would  march  for  him. 

There  were  flowers  on  the  table,  most  extrava- 
gantly, for  these  war  times,  orchids ;  and  there  were 
tall  white  candles  in  silver  holders. 

Jean  shining  between  the  candles  was  a  wonder 
for  the  world  to  gaze  upon.  Derry  couldn't  keep 
his  eyes  off  her.  This  was  no  longer  a  little  nun  of 
the  Toy  Shop,  yet  he  held  the  vision  of  the  little 
nun  in  his  heart,  lest  he  should  forget  that  she  had 
suffered. 

He  talked  to  them  all.  But  beating  like  a  wave 
against  his  consciousness  was  always  the  thought 
of  Jean.  Of  the  things  he  had  to  tell  her  which  he 
could  tell  to  no  one  else.  He  knew  now  that  he 
could  reveal  to  her  the  depths  of  his  nature.  He 
had  withheld  so  much,  fearing  to  crush  her  butter- 
fly wings,  but  she  was  not  a  butterfly.  They  had 
been  playing  at  cross  purposes,  and  writing  letters 
that  merely  skimmed  the  surface  of  their  emotions. 
It  had  taken  those  moments  in  the  Toy  Shop  to 
teach  them  their  mistake. 

Teddy,  feeling  that  the  occasion  called  for  a  re- 
laxing of  the  children-should-be-seen-and-not-heard 
rule,  asked  questions. 

421 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  How  long  can  you  stay?  " 

"  Ten  days." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Fwance?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Mother  says  I've  got  to  pray  for  the  Germans." 

"  Teddy,"  Margaret  admonished. 

"  Well,  I  rather  think  I  would,"  Derry  told  him. 
"  They  need  it." 

This  was  a  new  angle.  "  Shall  you  hate  to  kill 
them?" 

There  was  a  stir  about  the  table.  The  old  man 
and  the  women  seemed  to  hang  on  Berry's  answer. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  hate  it.  I  hate  all  killing,  but  it's 
got  to  be  done." 

He  spoke  presently,  at  length,  of  what  many  men 
thought  of  war. 

"  We  are  red-blooded  enough,  we  Americans,  but 
I  think  we  hate  killing  the  other  man  rather  more 
than  we  fear  being  killed.  It's  sickening  —  bay- 
onet practice.  Killing  at  long  range  is  different. 
The  children  of  my  generation  were  trained  to 
tender-heartedness.  We  looked  after  the  birds  and 
rescued  kittens,  and  were  told  that  wars  were  im- 
possible —  long  wars.  But  war  is  not  impossible, 
and  it  has  come  upon  us,  and  we  are  finding  that 
men  must  be  brave  not  merely  in  the  face  of  losing 
their  own  lives,  but  in  the  face  of  taking  the  lives  of 
—  others.  I  sometimes  wonder  what  it  must  have 
seemed  to  those  Germans  who  went  first  into  Bel- 
422 


MARCHING  FEET 

glum.  Some  of  them  must  have  been  kind  —  some 
of  them  must  have  asked  to  be  shot  rather  than  be 
set  at  the  work  of  butchery. 

"  I  sometimes  think,"  he  pursued,  "  that  if  we 
could  give  moving  pictures  of  the  war  just  as  it  is 
—  in  all  its  horror  and  hideousness  —  show  the  pic- 
tures in  every  little  town  in  every  country  in  the 
world,  that  war  would  stop  at  once.  If  the  Ger- 
mans could  see  themselves  in  those  towns  in  Bel- 
gium —  if  the  wrorld  could  see  them.  If  we  could 
see  men  mowed  down  —  wounded,  close  up,  as  our 
soldiers  see  them.  If  our  people  should  be  forced 
to  look  at  those  pictures,  as  the  people  of  war-rid- 
den countries  have  been  forced  to  gaze  upon  reali- 
ties, money  would  be  provided  and  men  provided  in 
such  amounts  and  numbers  that  those  who  began 
the  war  would  be  forced  to  end  it  on  the  terms  the 
world  would  set  for  them. 

"  The  fact  that  men  are  going  into  this  war  in 
spite  of  their  aversion  to  killing  shows  the  stuff  of 
which  they  are  made.  It  is  like  drowning  kittens," 
he  smiled  a  little.  "  It  has  to  be  done  or  the  world 
would  be  overrun  by  cats." 

Teddy,  wide-eyed,  was  listening.  "Do  people 
drown  kittens?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  I  didn't  think 
they  would."  It  was  a  sad  commentary  on  the  con- 
ditions of  war  that  he  was  more  heavily  oppressed 
by  the  thought  of  drowned  little  cats  than  by  the 
murder  of  men. 

423 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"  My  dear  fellow/'  Derry  said,  "  we  won't  talk 
about  such  things.  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for 
mentioning  it." 

The  talk  flowed  on  then  in  lighter  vein.  "  Ralph 
Witherspoon  is  in  town,"  Jean  vouchsafed.  "  He 
had  a  bad  fall  and  was  sent  home  to  get  over  it. 
Mrs.  Witherspoon  has  asked  me  there  to  dine.  I 
shall  take  you  with  me." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  people  were  dining  out  in 
these  times." 

"Mrs.  Witherspoon  prides  herself  on  her  con- 
servation menus.  She  says  that  she  serves  war 
things,  that  she  gives  us  nothing  to  eat  that  the  men 
need,  and  she  likes  her  friends  about  her." 

"  We  shall  miss  Drusilla,"  Derry  said.  "  I've 
been  worried  about  her  since  the  Huns  recaptured 
those  towns  in  France." 

"  Daddy  wrote  that  she  is  not  far  from  his  hos- 
pital, doing  splendid  work,  and  that  the  men  adore 
her." 

"  They  would,"  said  Derry.  "  She  is  a  great- 
hearted creature.  I  can  fancy  her  singing  to  them 
over  there.  You  know  what  a  wonder  she  was  at 
that  sort  of  thing  — " 

After  dinner  the  General  was  eager  to  have  his 
son  to  himself.  "  The  women  will  excuse  us  while 
we  smoke  and  talk." 

Derry 's  eyes  wandered  to  Jean.  "  All  right,"  he 
said  with  an  effort. 

424 


MARCHING  FEET 

The  General's  heart  tightened.  His  son  was  his 
son.  The  little  girl  in  silver  and  rose  was  in  a 
sense  an  outsider.  She  had  not  known  Derry 
throughout  the  years,  as  his  father  had  known  him. 
How  could  she  care  as  much? 

Yet  she  did  care.  He  realized  how  Derry's  com- 
ing had  changed  her.  He  heard  her  laugh  as  she 
had  not  laughed  in  all  the  weeks  of  loneliness.  She 
came  up  and  stood  beside  Derry,  and  linked  her 
arm  in  his  and  looked  up  at  him  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Isn't  he  —  wonderful?  "  she  asked,  with  a  catch 
of  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  take  her  away,"  the  old  gentleman  said. 
"  Go  and  talk  to  her  somewhere." 

Derry's  face  brightened.     "  You  don't  mind?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  stoutly.  "  Bronson  says  that 
the  rain  has  stopped.  There's  probably  a  moon 
somewhere,  if  you'll  look  for  it." 

Margaret  went  up  to  put  the  children  to  bed. 
Emily,  promising  to  come  back,  withdrew  to  write 
a  letter.  The  old  man  sat  alone. 

He  limped  into  the  blue  room,  and  gazed  in- 
differently around  on  its  treasures.  Once  he  had 
cared  for  these  plates  and  cups  —  his  quest  for 
rare  porcelains  had  been  eager. 

And  now  he  did  not  care.     The  lovely  glazed 
things  were  for  the  eye,  not  for  the  heart.     He 
would  have  given  them  all  for  the  touch  of  a  loving 
hand,  for  a  voice  that  grew  tender  — . 
425 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

There  was  the  patter  of  little  feet  on  the  polished 
floor.  Margaret-Mary  in  a  diminutive  blue  dress- 
ing gown  and  infinitesimal  slippers,  with  her  curls 
brushed  tidily  up  from  the  back  of  her  neck  and 
skewered  with  a  hairpin,  came  over  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  knee.  "  Bus  a  'itte  'tory?  "  she  asked 
ingratiatingly.  She  adored  stories. 

He  picked  her  up,  and  she  curled  herself  into  the 
corner  of  his  arm. 

Her  mother  found  her  there.  "  Mother's  naughty 
little  girl,"  she  said,  "  to  run  away  — " 

"  Let  her  stay,"  the  General  begged.  "  Somehow 
my  heart  needs  her  tonight." 


426 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SIX   DAYS 

FOUR  days  of  Derry's  furlough  had  passed,  four 
palpitating  days,  and  now  the  hours  that  the  lovers 
spent  together  began  to  take  on  the  poignant  quality 
of  coming  separation.  Every  moment  counted, 
nothing  must  be  lost,  nothing  must  be  left  unsaid, 
nothing  must  be  left  undone  which  should  empha- 
size their  oneness  of  thought  and  purpose. 

They  read  together,  they  walked  together,  they 
rode  together,  they  went  to  church  together.  If 
they  included  the  General  in  their  plans  it  was  be- 
cause they  felt  his  need  of  them,  not  theirs  of  him. 
They  lived  in  a  world  created  to  survive  for  ten 
days  and  then  to  collapse  like  a  pricked  bubble  — 

And  it  was  because  of  the  dread  of  collapse  that 
Jean  began  to  plan  a  structure  of  remembrance 
which  should  endure  after  Berry's  departure. 

"  Darling,"  she  said,  "  there  are  only  six  days  — 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  them?  " 

THE  FIFTH   DAY 

It  was  Sunday,  and  in  the  morning  they  went 
dutifully  to  church.     They  ate  their  luncheon  duti- 
427 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

fully  with  the  whole  family,  and  motored  dutifully 
afterwards  with  the  General.  Then  at  twilight 
they  sought  the  Toy  Shop. 

They  had  it  all  to  themselves,  and  they  had  told 
Bronson  that  they  would  not  be  home  for  dinner. 
So  Jean  made  chocolate  for  Derry  as  she  had  made 
it  on  that  first  night  for  his  father.  They  toasted 
war  bread  on  the  electric  grill,  and  there  were 
strawberries. 

They  were  charmed  with  their  housekeeping. 
"  It  would  have  been  like  this,"  Derry  said  —  all 
eyes  for  her  loveliness,  "  if  you  had  been  the  girl  in 
the  Toy  Shop  and  I  had  been  the  shabby  boy  — " 

Jean  pondered.  "  I  wonder  if  a  big  house  is  ever 
really  a  home?" 

"  Not  ours.  Mother  tried  to  make  it  —  but  it  has 
always  been  a  sort  of  museum  with  Dad's  collec- 
tions." 

"  Do  you  think  that  some  day  we  could  have  a 
little  house?" 

"We  can  have  whatever  you  want."  His  smile 
warmed  her. 

"  Wouldn't  you  want  it,  Derry?  " 

"  If  you  were  in  it." 

"  Let's  talk  about  it,  and  plan  it,  and  put  dream 
furniture  in  it,  and  dream  friends  — " 

"  More  Lovely  Dreams?  " 

"  Well,  something  like  that  —  a  House  o'  Dreams, 
Derry,  without  any  gold  dragons  or  marble  halls  or 
428 


SIX  DAYS 

queer  porcelain  things;  just  our  own  bits  of  furni- 
ture and  china,  and  a  garden,  and  Muffin  and  Polly 
Ann  — "  Her  eyes  were  wistful. 

"  You  shall  have  it  now  if  you  wish." 

"  Not  until  you  can  share  it  with  me  — " 

And  that  was  the  beginning  of  their  fantastic 
pilgrimage.  In  the  time  that  was  left  to  them  they 
were  to  find  a  house  of  dreams,  and  as  Jean  said, 
expansively,  "  all  the  rest." 

"We  will  start  tonight,"  Derry  declared. 
"  There's  such  a  moon." 

It  was  the  kind  of  moon  that  wrhitened  the  world ; 
one  swam  in  a  sea  of  light.  Derry's  runabout  was 
a  fairy  car.  Jean's  hair  was  molten  gold,  her 
lover's  pale  silver  —  as  with  bare  heads,  having 
passed  the  city  limits,  they  took  the  open  road. 

It  was  as  warm  as  summer,  and  there  were 
fragrances  which  seemed  to  wash  over  them  in 
waves  as  they  passed  old  gardens  and  old  orchards. 
There  was  bridal-wreath  billowing  above  stone 
fences,  snow-balls,  pale  globes  among  the  green, 
beds  of  iris,  purple-black  beneath  the  moon. 

They  forded  a  stream  —  more  silver,  and  a  silver 
road  after  that. 

"  Where  are  we  going?  "  Jean  breathed. 

"  I  know  a  house  — " 

It  was  a  little  house  set  on  top  of  a  hill,  where 
indeed  no  little  house  should  be  set,  for  little  houses 
should  nestle,  protected  by  the  slopes  back  of  them. 
429 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

But  this  little  house  was  set  up  there  for  the  view 
—  the  Monument  a  spectral  shaft,  miles  away,  the 
Potomac  broadening  out  beyond  it,  the  old  trees  of 
the  Park  sleeping  between.  This  was  what  the 
little  house  saw  by  night ;  it  saw  more  than  that  by 
day. 

It  was  not  an  empty  house.  One  window  was 
lighted,  a  square  of  gold  in  a  lower  room. 

They  did  not  know  who  lived  in  the  house.  They 
did  not  care.  For  the  moment  it  was  theirs. 
Leaving  the  car,  they  sat  on  the  grass  and  surveyed 
their  property. 

"  Of  course  it  is  ours,"  Jean  said,  "  and  when  you 
are  over  there,  you  can  think  of  it  with  the  moon 
shining  on  it." 

"  I  like  the  sloping  roof,"  her  lover  took  up  the 
refrain,  "  and  the  big  chimney  and  the  wide  win- 
dows." 

"  I  can  sit  on  the  window  seat  and  watch  for  you, 
Derry,  and  there  will  be  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney  on  cold  days,  and  a  fire  roaring  on  the 
hearth  when  you  open  the  door  — " 

They  decided  that  there  ought  to  be  eight 
rooms — ,  and  they  named  them,  The  Log-Fire 
Boom;  The  Room  of  Little  Feasts;  the  Place  of 
Pots  and  Pans  — 

"  That's  the  first  floor,"  said  Jean. 

"  Yes." 

The  upper  floor  was  harder  —  The  Royal  Suite ; 
430 


SIX  DAYS 

The  Friendly  Room,  for  the  dream  maid  of  all  work ; 
The  Spare  Chamber  — 

"  My  grandmother  had  a  spare  chamber,"  Jean 
explained,  "  and  I  always  liked  the  sound  of  it,  as 
if  she  kept  her  hospitality  pressed  down  and  run- 
ning over  — " 

Derry,  who  had  written  it  all  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  held  his  pencil  poised.  "  There  is  one  more," 
he  said,  "  the  little  room  towards  the  West  — " 

Jean  hesitated  for  the  breadth  of  a  second. 
"  Well,  we  may  need  another,"  she  said,  and  left  it 
nameless. 

The  door  opened  and  a  man  came  out.  If  he  saw 
them,  they  meant  nothing  to  him  —  a  pair  of  lovers 
by  the  wayside;  there  were  many  such. 

He  paced  back  and  forth  on  the  gravel  walk. 
They  could  hear  the  crunch  of  it  under  his  feet. 
They  saw  the  shining  tip  of  his  cigar  —  smelt  its 
fragrance  — . 

Again  the  door  opened,  to  frame  a  woman.  She 
called  and  her  voice  was  young. 

"  Dearest,  it  is  late.    Are  you  coming  in?  " 

His  young  voice  answered.  His  far-flung  cigar- 
end  trailed  across  the  darkness,  his  eager  steps  gave 
quick  response  —  the  door  was  shut  — . 

"  Oh,  Derry,  I'd  call  you  like  that  — " 

"  And  I  should  come." 

The  light  went  out  on  the  lower  floor,  and  pres- 
ently in  a  room  above  a  window  was  illumined. 
431 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

THE   SIXTH   DAY 

A  dream  house  must  have  dream  furniture. 
There  are  old  shops  in  Alexandria,  where,  less  often 
than  in  earlier  years,  one  may  find  treasures,  bow- 
legged  chairs  and  gate-legged  tables,  yellowed  let- 
ters written  by  famous  pens,  steel  engravings  which 
have  hung  in  historic  halls,  pewter  and  plate,  Luster 
and  Sevres,  Wedgwood  and  Willow,  Chippendale 
and  Hepplewhite,  Adams  and  Empire,  everything 
linked  with  some  distinguished  name,  everything 
with  a  story,  real  or  invented.  One  may  buy  an 
ancestor  for  a  song,  or  at  least  the  portrait  of 
one,  and  silver  with  armorial  bearings,  and  no  one 
will  know  if  you  do  not  tell  them  that  your  heir- 
looms have  come  from  a  shop. 

And  Alexandria,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is 
reached  from  Washington  by  motor  and  trolley, 
train  or  ferry. 

It  was  by  ferry  that  the  lovers  preferred  to  go  in 
the  glory  of  this  May  morning,  feeling  the  breeze 
fresh  in  their  faces  as  with  a  motley  crowd  they 
stood  on  the  lower  deck  and  looked  towards  the  old 
town. 

Thus  they  came  to  the  wharves,  flanked  by  ancient 
warehouses  in  a  straggly  row  along  the  water  line. 
The  windows  of  these  ancient  edifices  had  looked 
down  on  ^Revolutionary  heroes,  the  old  brick  walls 
had  echoed  to  the  sound  of  fife  and  drum  —  the  old 
432 


SIX  DAYS 

streets  had  once  been  thronged  by  men  in  blue  and 
buff.  Since  those  days  the  quaint  little  city  had 
basked  in  the  pride  of  her  traditions.  She  had 
tolerated  nothing  modern  until  within  this  very 
year  she  had  waked  to  find  that  her  red-coat  enemy 
was  now  her  friend,  that  the  roads  which  George 
Washington  had  travelled  were  being  trod  once 
more  by  marching  men;  that  in  the  church  where 
he  had  worshipped  prayers  were  being  said  once 
more  for  men  in  battle. 

And  into  the  shops,  with  their  storied  antiques, 
drifted  now  men  in  olive-drab  and  men  in  blue,  and 
men  in  forester's  green,  who  laughed  at  the  flint 
locks  and  powder  horns,  saluted  the  Father  of  his 
Country  whenever  they  passed  his  picture,  gazed 
with  reverence  on  ancient  swords  and  uniforms, 
dickered  for  such  small  articles  as  might  be  bought 
out  of  their  limited  allowances,  and  paid  in  the  end, 
cheerfully,  prices  which  would  have  been  scorned 
by  any  discriminating  buyer. 

"  There  must  be  a  table  for  the  Log-Fire  Boom," 
Jean  told  her  husband,  "  and  a  fire-bench,  not  too 
high,  and  a  big  chair  for  you,  and  another  chair 
for  me  — " 

"  And  a  stool  for  your  little  feet  — ." 

"  And  a  desk  for  you,  Derry." 

"  And  an  oval  mirror  with  a  gold  frame,  for  me  to 
see  your  face  in,  Jean-Joan  — 

Then  there  was  a  four-poster  bed  with  pine- 
433 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

apples,  and  an  Adams  screen,  an  old  brass-bound 
chest,  the  most  adorable  things  in  Sheffield  and  crys- 
tal, and  to  crown  it  all,  a  picture  of  George  Wash- 
ington—  a  print,  faintly  colored,  with  the  coun- 
try's coat  of  arms  carved  on  the  frame. 

Yet  not  one  thing  did  they  buy  except  a  quite 
sumptuous  and  splendid  marriage  coffer  which  sug- 
gested itself  at  once  as  the  only  wedding  present  for 
Emily. 

The  price  took  Jean's  breath  away.  "  But,  dear- 
est—" 

"  Nothing  is  too  good  for  Emily,  Jean- Joan." 

That  night  Derry  drew  a  picture  of  the  house  in 
Jean's  memory  book. 

"  I'll  put  a  garden  in  front  — " 

"How  can  you  put  in  a  garden,  Derry,  when 
there  isn't  one?  " 

She  wore  a  lace  robe  and  a  lace  cap,  and  there 
were  pink  ribbons  threaded  in,  and  her  cheeks  were 
pink.  "  You  can't  put  in  a  garden  until  there  is 
one,  Derry.  When  we  find  it,  it  must  be  a  love- 
some  garden,  with  the  old-fashioned  flowers,  and  a 
fountain  with  a  cupid  —  and  a  fish-pond." 

With  this  settled,  he  proceeded,  with  facile  pen, 
to  furnish  the  house.  There  was  the  Log-Fire 
Koom,  with  the  print  of  George  Washington  over 
the  mantel,  with  Jean's  knitting  on  the  table;  Muf- 
fin on  one  side  of  the  fire,  and  Polly  Ann  on  the 
434 


SIX  DATS 

other.  He  even  started  to  put  Jean  in  one  of  the 
big  chairs,  but  she  made  him  rub  it  out.  "  Not  yet, 
Derry.  You  see,  I  am  not  living  in  it  yet.  I  am 
living  here,  with  you  alive  and  loving  — " 

He  caught  her  to  him.  "When  you  are  away 
from  me,"  she  whispered,  "  I'll  live  in  it  —  and 
you'll  be  there  —  and  I  shall  never  feel  alone  — " 

Yet  later,  Derry  coming  in  unexpectedly  after  a 
talk  with  his  father,  found  her  sobbing  with  her 
head  on  the  fat  old  book. 

"  My  darling  — " 

"  It  isn't  that  I  am  unhappy,  Derry  — .  It  is 
just  for  that  one  little  minute,  I  wanted  it  to  be 
real  — " 

THE  SEVENTH   DAY 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day  that  a 
letter  came  from  Drusilla. 

"  Dear  Babes  in  the  Wood: 

"  I  am  writing  this  to  tell  you  that  the  next  time 
I  see  Captain  Hewes,  I  am  going  to  marry  him. 
That  sounds  a  little  like  a  hold-up,  doesn't  it?  But 
it  is  the  way  we  are  doing  things  over  here.  He 
has  wanted  it  for  so  long,  and  I  am  beginning  to 
know  that  I  want  it,  too.  It  has  been  hard  to  tell 
just  what  was  really  best  in  the  face  of  all  that  is 
happening.  It  has  seemed  sometimes  as  if  it  were  a 
sacrilege  to  think  of  love  and  life  in  the  midst  of 
death  and  destruction. 

"  I  shan't  have  any  trousseau ;  I  shan't  iave  a 
435 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

wedding  journey.  He  will  just  blow  in  some  day, 
and  the  chaplain  will  marry  us,  and  the  little  old 
cur6  of  this  village  will  give  us  his  blessing. 

"  I  never  expected  to  be  married  like  this.  You 
know  the  kind  of  mind  I  have.  I  must  always  see 
the  picture  of  myself  doing  things,  and  there  had 
always  been  a  sort  of  dream  of  some  great  church 
with  a  blur  of  gold  light  at  the  far  end,  and  myself 
floating  up  the  aisle  in  a  cloud  of  white  veil,  and  a 
hushed  crowd  and  the  organ  playing. 

"  And  it  won't  be  a  bit  like  that.  I  shall  wear  a 
uniform  and  a  flannel  shirt,  and  I'll  be  lucky  if  my 
boots  are  not  splashed  with  mud.  It  will  seem 
queer  to  be  married  with  my  boots  on,  as  men  died 
in  old  romances. 

"  Perhaps  by  the  time  this  reaches  you,  Drusilla 
Gray  will  be  Drusilla  Hewes,  and  so  I  ask  your 
blessing,  and  your  prayers. 

"  I  should  never  have  asked  for  your  prayers  a 
year  ago.  I  should  have  been  thanking  you  for  your 
wedding  present  of  glass  and  silver,  and  asking  you 
to  dine  with  me  on  Tuesday  or  Thursday  as  the  case 
might  be.  But  now,  the  only  thought  that  holds 
me  is  whether  God  will  give  my  Captain  back  to 
me,  and  the  hope  that  if  not,  I  may  have  the  strength 
to  bear  it  — . 

"  I  am  sure  that  Derry  will  feel  the  sublimity  of 
it  all  when  he  comes  —  death  is  so  near,  yet  so  little 
feared;  the  men  know  that  tonight  or  tomorrow 
they  may  be  beyond  the  shadows,  and  it  holds  them 
to  something  bigger  than  themselves. 

"  But  be  sure  of  this,  my  dears,  that  when  Derry 
goes  the  seas  will  not  part  you  — .  Spirit  touches 
spirit,  space  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Often  when 
436 


SIX  DAYS 

I  am  alone,  the  Captain  comes  to  me,  speaks  to  me, 
cheers  me;  I  think  if  he  should  die  in  battle,  he 
would  still  come. 

"  If  ever  I  have  a  home  of  my  own,  I  shall  build 
an  altar  not  to  the  Unknown  God  but  to  the  God 
whom  I  had  lost  and  have  found  again.  I  go  into 
old  churches  here  to  pray,  and  it  is  no  longer  a  mat- 
ter of  feeling,  no  longer  a  matter  of  form,  it  is  some- 
thing more  than  that. 

"  And  now  I  can't  ask  you  to  dance  at  my  wed- 
ding, but  I  can  ask  you  to  wish  me  happiness  and 
a  long  life  with  my  lover,  or  failing  that,  the 
strength  to  give  him  up  — " 

She  signed  herself,  "  Always  loving  you  both, 

"  DRUSILLA." 

"  Such  a  dear  letter,"  said  Jean. 

"And  such  a  different  Drusilla.  Do  you  think 
that  the  Drusilla  of  the  old  days  would  have  built 
an  altar?" 

And  it  was  because  of  Drusilla's  letter  that 
Derry  took  Jean  that  afternoon  to  the  great  Library 
with  the  gold  dome  and  guided  her  to  a  corridor 
made  beautiful  by  the  brush  of  an  artist  who  had 
painted  "  The  Occupations  of  the  Day " ;  in  one 
lunette  a  primitive  man  and  woman  knelt  before  a 
pile  of  stones  on  which  burned  a  sacred  flame. 
Above  them  was  blue  sky  —  flowers  grew  within 
reach  of  their  hands  —  the  fields  stretched  beyond. 

"  We  must  build  an  altar,  dearest." 

"  In  our  hearts  — " 

"  And  in  our  House  of  Dreams  — " 
437 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 


THE  EIGHTH  DAY 

There  was  no  getting  out  of  the  Witherspoon 
dinner,  and  it  was  when  Ralph  greeted  Jean  that  he 
said  to  her,  "  You  are  lovelier  than  ever." 

She  smiled  at  him.  "  It  is  because  my  heart  is 
singing  — " 

"Do  you  feel  like  that?" 

She  nodded.  "  In  three  days  the  song  will  cease 
—  the  lights  will  go  out,  and  the  curtain  will  fall  — 
the  end  of  the  world  will  come." 

"  Drake  goes  in  three  days?  " 

"  He  goes  back  to  camp.  I  don't  expect  to  see 
him  again  before  he  sails." 

"  Lucky  fellow." 

"Togo?" 

"  To  have  you." 

«  Please  don't." 

"  Let  me  say  this  —  that  I  acted  like  a  cad ;  I'd 
like  to  feel  that  you've  forgiven  me." 

"I  have  forgotten,  which  is  better,  isn't  it?" 

"  How  sweet  you  are  —  and  all  the  sweetness  is 
Derry's.  Well,  when  I  go  over,  will  you  pray  for 
me,  my  dear?  " 

He  was  in  dead  earnest.  "There  are  so  few 
women  —  who  pray  —  but  I  rather  fancy  that  you 
must  — " 

All  around  them  was  surging  talk.  "How 
438 


SIX  DATS 

strange  it  seems,"  Jean  said,  "  that  we  should  be 
speaking  of  such  things,  here  — " 

"  No,"  Ealph  said,  "  it  is  not  strange.  I  have  a 
feeling  that  I  shan't  conie  back." 

Alma  Drew  on  the  other  side  of  him  claimed  his 
attention.  "  War  is  the  great  sensational  oppor- 
tunity. And  there  are  people  who  like  patriotism 
of  the  sound-the-trumpet-beat-the-drum  variety  — " 

"  You  said  that  rather  cleverly,  Alma/'  Kalph 
told  her,  "  but  you  mustn't  forget  that  wras  the  kind 
of  patriotism  our  forefathers  had,  and  it  seemed 
rather  effective." 

"  Men  aren't  machines,"  Jean  said  hotly.  "  They 
are  flesh  and  blood,  and  so  are  women  —  a  fife  and 
drum  or  a  bag-pipe  means  more  to  them  than  just 
crude  music;  the  blood  of  their  ancestors  thrilled 
to  the  sound." 

"  As  savages  thrill  to  a  tom-tom." 

They  stared  at  her. 

"  It  is  all  savage,"  Alma  said,  crisply  and  coolly. 
"  We  are  all  murderers.  We  are  teaching  our  men 
to  run  Germans  through  with  bayonets,  and  trying 
to  make  ourselves  think  that  they  aren't  breaking 
the  sixth  commandment.  Yet  in  times  of  peace, 
when  a  man  kills  he  goes  to  the  electric  chair  — " 

It  was  Derry  who  answered  that.  "  If  in  times 
of  peace  I  heard  you  scream  and  saw  you  set  upon 
by  thieves  and  murderers,  and  stood  with  my  hands 
439 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

in  my  pockets  while  you  were  tortured  and  killed, 
would  you  call  my  non-interference  laudable?  " 

«  That's  different." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing.  The  only  difference  lies 
in  the  fact  that  thousands  of  defenceless  women  and 
little  children  are  calling.  Would  you  have  the  na- 
tion stand  with  its  hands  in  its  pockets?  " 

Alma,  cold  as  ice,  challenged  him :  "  Why 
should  they  call  to  us?  We'll  be  sorry  some  day 
that  we  went  into  it." 

Out  of  a  dead  silence,  a  man  said :  "  Not  long 
ago,  I  went  into  a  sweet  shop  in  England.  A 
woman  came  in  with  two  children.  They  were  rosy 
children  and  round.  They  carried  muffs. 

"  She  bought  candy  for  them  —  and  when  she 
gave  it  to  them,  I  saw  that  they  had  —  no  hands  — " 

A  gasp  went  round  the  table. 

"  They  were  Belgian  children." 

That  night  Jean  said  to  Derry  with  a  sternness 
which  set  strangely  upon  her,  "  We  must  have 
friends  in  our  House  of  Dreams.  The  latchstrings 
will  always  be  out  for  people  like  Emily  and  Marion, 
and  Drusilla,  and  Ulrich  and  Ralph  — " 

"Yes—" 

"  But  not  for  Hilda  and  Alma." 

THE   NINTH   DAY 

It  was  on  the  ninth  day  that  Derry  waked  his  wife 
at  dawn.    "  I've  ordered  the  car.    It  rained  in  the 
440 


SIX  DAYS 

night,  and  now  —  oh,  there  was  never  such  a  morn- 
ing; there  may  never  be  such  a  morning  for  us 
again." 

"  What  time  is  it,  Derry?  " 

"  Sunrise  time  —  come  and  see." 

Her  window  faced  the  east,  and  she  saw  all  the 
pearl  of  it,  and  the  faint  rose  and  the  amethyst  and 
gold. 

"We  shall  eat  our  breakfast  ten  miles  from 
town/'  Derry  said,  as  their  car  carried  him  out  into 
the  country,  "  arid  there's  a  lovesome  garden  — " 

"  With  old-fashioned  flowers  and  a  fountain  and 
a  Cupid?  " 

"  With  all  that  —  and  more  — " 

The  garden  belonged  to  an  old  woman.  For 
years  and  years  she  had  planted  flowers  —  tulips 
and  hyacinths  and  poppies  and  lilies  and  gladiolus 
and  larkspur  and  phlox  and  ladyslipper  —  there 
had  always  been  a  riot  of  color. 

She  had  an  old  gardener,  and  she  would  stand 
over  him,  leaning  on  her  silver-topped  ebony  cane, 
with  a  lace  scarf  covering  her  hair,  and  would  point 
out  the  places  to  plant  things. 

But  now  in  her  garden  she  had  strawberries  and 
Swiss  chard  arid  sweet  herbs,  and  rows  and  rows  of 
peas  and  young  onions  and  potatoes,  with  a  place 
left  for  corn  at  the  back,  and  tomatoes  in  every 
spare  space. 

And  there  was  lettuce,  and  an  asparagus  bed,  and 
441 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

everything  on  this  May  morning  was  shouting  to 
the  sun. 

"I  had  always  thought,"  said  the  old  lady  to 
Deny,  when  he  presented  Jean,  "  that  a  vegetable 
garden  was  uninteresting.  But  it  is  a  little  world 

—  with  class  distinctions  of  its  own,  if  you  please. 
All  the  really  useful  vegetables  we  call  common; 
it  is  the  ones  we  can  do  without  which  are  the 
aristocrats.     The  potatoes  and  cabbages  and  onions 
are  really  important,  but  I  am  proudest  of  my 
young  peas  and  my  peppers  and  cucumbers  and 
tomatoes,  and  that's  the  way  of  the  world,  isn't  it? 
If  there  was  only  an  aristocracy  things  would  stop, 
but  the  common  folk  could  go  on  alone  until  the 
end  of  time." 

She  gave  Jean  a  blue  bowl  to  pick  strawberries 
in ;  and  Derry  dug  asparagus  —  the  creamy  shoots 
were  tipped  with  pale  purple  and  pink,  deepening 
into  green  where  they  had  stood  too  long  in  the  sun. 

"  Aren't  there  any  flowers?  "    Jean  was  anxious. 

"  Come  and  see."  The  old  woman  went  ahead 
of  them,  her  cane  tap-tapping  on  the  stone  flags. 

She  opened  a  gate  which  was  flanked  by  brick 
walls.  "  These,"  she  said,  whimsically,  "  are  my 
jewels." 

All  the  sweetness  which  had  once  spread  over  her 
domain  was  concentrated  here,  fragrance  and  flame 

—  roses,   iris,   peonies  —  honeysuckle  —  ruby   and 
emerald,  amethyst  and  gold ;  a  Cupid  riding  a  swan, 

442 


THESE    ARE    MY    JEWELS 


SIX  DAYS 

with  water  pouring  from  his  quiver  into  a  shallow 
marble  basin. 

"  I  should  not  have  dared  keep  this,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  other — "  the  old  woman  told  them. 
"  I  am  very  sure  that  in  these  days  God  walks  in 
vegetable  gardens  — " 

For  breakfast  they  had  strawberries  and  rad- 
ishes, thin  little  corn  cakes  —  and  two  fresh  eggs 
from  the  chickens  which  most  triumphantly  occu- 
pied the  conservatory. 

"  This  is  the  only  way  I  can  do  my  bit,"  the  old 
lady  explained,  "  by  helping  with  the  world's  food 
supply.  My  eyes  are  bad  and  I  cannot  sew,  my  fin- 
gers are  twisted  and  I  cannot  knit,  and  Dennis  is 
old  —  but  we  plan  the  garden  and  plant  — " 

And  that  night  Jean  said  to  Derry,  "  I  am  glad 
there  were  flowers  to  make  it  lovesome  —  and  I  am 
glad  there  were  vegetables  to  make  it  right.'* 

So  he  drew  a  waving  field  of  corn  back  of  the 
dream  cottage,  and  tomatoes  and  peas  to  the  right 
and  left  —  with  onions  in  a  stiff  row  along  the  bor- 
der, and  potatoes  storming  the  hillside.  But  the 
gate  which  led  to  the  Lovesome  Garden  was  open 
wide,  so  that  one  might  see  the  Cupid  as  he  rode 
his  swan. 

THE  LAST  DAY 

It  was  on  the  tenth  day  that  Derry  said,  "  We 
have  our  house  and  the  furniture  for  it,  and  we 
443 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

have  built  an  altar,  and  found  our  friends,  and  we 
have  planted  a  garden  —  what  shall  we  do  on  the 
last  day?" 

And  Jean  said,  rather  unexpectedly,  "  We  will  go 
to  the  circus." 

"  To  the  circus?  " 

"  Yes.  And  take  the  children  —  they  are  dying 
to  go,  and  Margaret  can't.  It  is  up  to  you  and  me, 
Derry." 

Even  Nurse  was  to  stay  behind.  "  We'll  have 
them  all  to  ourselves." 

Derry  was  dubious,  a  little  hurt.  "It  seems 
rather  queer,  doesn't  it,  on  our  last  day?  " 

"I  —  I  think  I  should  like  it  better  than  any- 
thing else,  Derry." 

And  so  they  went. 

It  was  warm  with  a  hint  of  showers  in  the  air, 
and  both  of  the  children  were  in  white.  Jean  was 
also  in  white.  They  rode  in  the  General's  limou- 
sine to  where  the  big  tent  with  all  its  flags  flying 
covered  a  vast  space. 

"  Cousin  Derry,  Mother  said  I  might  have  some 
peanuts." 

"All  right,  old  man." 

"  And  Margaret-Mary  mustn't.  But  there  are 
some  crackers  in  a  bag." 

It  was  all  most  entrancing,  the  gilded  wagons, 
the  restless  beasts  behind  their  bars,  the  spotted 
444 


SIX  DAYS 

ponies,  the  swaying  elephants,  the  bands  playing, 
the  crowds  streaming  — . 

Teddy  held  tight  to  Jean's  hand.  Margaret-Mary 
was  carried  high  on  Derry's  shoulder.  All  of  her 
curls  were  bobbing,  and  her  eyes  were  shining. 
Now  and  then  she  dropped  a  light  kiss  on  the  silver 
blond  hair  of  her  cavalier. 

"  Tousin  Dee,"  she  murmured,  affectionately. 

"  She's  an  adorable  kiddie,"  Derry  told  Jean  as 
they  found  their  seats. 

"  Cousin  Derry,"  Teddy  reminded  him,  "  don't 
forget  the  peanuts." 

And  now  the  trumpets  blared  and  the  drums 
boomed,  and  the  great  parade  writhed  like  a  glit- 
tering serpent  around  the  huge  circle,  then  broke  up 
into  various  groups  as  the  performance  began  in 
the  rings. 

After  that  one  needed  all  of  one's  eyes.  Teddy 
sat  spellbound  for  a  while,  but  found  time  at  last  to 
draw  a  long  breath.  "  Cousin  Derry,  that  is  the 
funniest  clown  — " 

"  The  little  one?  " 

"  The  big  one;  oh,  well,  the  little  one,  too." 

Silence  again  while  the  elephants  did  amazing 
things  in  one  ring,  with  Japanese  tumblers  in  an- 
other, with  piebald  ponies  beyond,  and  things  being 
done  on  trapezes  everywhere. 

Teddy  slipped  his  hand  into  Derry's.  "  It's  — 
445 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

it's  almost  like  having  Daddy/'  he  confided.  "  I 
know  he's  glad  I'm  here." 

Berry's  big  hand  closed  over  the  small  one.  "  I'm 
glad,  too,  old  chap." 

Margaret-Mary  having  gazed  her  fill,  slept  com- 
fortably in  Jean's  arms. 

"  Let  me  hold  her,"  Derry  said. 

Jean  shook  her  head.    "  I  love  to  have  her  here." 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  as  she  bent  above 
the  child  her  hair  made  a  halo  of  gold.  In  the 
midst  of  all  the  tawdriness  she  was  a  still  and 
sacred  figure  —  a  Madonna  with  a  child. 

Teddy,  when  he  reached  home,  told  the  General 
all  about  it. 

"  It  was  be-yeutiful  —  but  Cousin  Jean  cwied  — " 

"Cried?" 

"  I  saw  a  tear  rwunning  down  her  cheek,  and  it 
splashed  on  Margaret-Mary's  nose  — " 

And  that  night  Derry  said,  "  My  darling,  what 
shall  I  draw  in  our  book?  " 

"  The  thing  that  you  want  most  to  remember, 
Derry." 

So  he  drew  her  all  in  white,  bending  over  a  child 
of  dreams. 

The  next  morning,   she  told  him   "  Good-bye." 
They  had  come  along  to  the  Toy  Shop  for  their  fare- 
well, so  that  there  was  only  the  old  white  elephant 
446 


SIX  DAJS 

to  see  her  tears,  and  the  Lovely  Dreams  to  be  sorry 
for  her. 

Yet  her  head  was  held  high  at  the  very  last,  and 
she  was  not  sorry  for  herself.  "  I  am  glad  and 
proud  to  have  you  go,  dearest.  I  am  glad  and 
proud  — " 

And  after  he  had  gone,  she  worked  until  lunch 
time  on  the  bandages  and  wipes,  and  rode  with  the 
General  in  the  afternoon,  with  her  hand  in  his, 
knowing  that  it  comforted  him. 

But  very  late  that  night,  when  every  one  else  in 
the  big  house  was  fast  asleep,  she  crept  out  into 
the  hall  in  her  lace  robe  and  lace  cap  and  pink 
slippers  and  stood  beneath  the  picture  of  the 
painted  lady.  "  He  will  come  back/'  she  said. 
"He  must  come  back  —  and  —  oh,  oh,  Berry's 
mother  in  Heaven  —  you  must  tell  me  how  to  live  — 
without  him  — ." 


447 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"  AND,   AFTER   ALL,   HE   CAME  TO   THE   WARS !  " 

A  PERFECT  day,  with  men  lying  dead  by  thousands 
on  the  battlefield;  twilight,  with  a  young  moon; 
night  and  the  stars  — 

Drusilla's  throat  was  dry  with  singing  —  there 
had  been  so  many  hurt,  and  she  had  found  that  it 
helped  them  to  hear  her,  so  when  a  moaning,  groan- 
ing, cursing  ambulance  load  stopped  a  moment,  she 
sang;  when  walking  wounded  came  through  sag- 
ging with  pain  and  dreadful  weariness,  she  sang; 
and  when  night  fell,  and  an  engine  was  stalled, 
and  she  took  in  her  own  car  a  man  who  must  be 
rushed  to  the  first  collecting  station,  she  found 
herself  still  singing  — .  And  this  time  it  was  "  The 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic." 

The  man  propped  up  beside  her  murmured,  "  My 
Captain  liked  that  —  he  used  to  sing  it  — " 

"Yes?"  She  was  listening  with  only  half  an 
ear.  There  were  so  many  Captains. 

"  He  was  engaged  to  an  American." 

She  listened  now.     "  Your  Captain  —  ?  " 

"  Captain  Hewes." 

She  guided  the  car  steadily.     "  Dawson  Hewes?  " 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  him?  " 
448 


"HE  CAME  TO  THE  WARS!" 

11 1  —  I  am  the  girl  he  is  going  to  marry  — " 

He  froze  into  silence.  She  bent  towards  him. 
"  What  made  you  say  —  was  —  ?  " 

"  He's  —  gone  West  — " 

"Dead?" 

"  Yes." 

"When?"  She  still  drove  steadily  through  the 
dark. 

"  To-day." 

She  looked  up  at  the  stars.  So  —  he  would  never 
come  blowing  in  with  the  sweet  spring  winds. 

"  I'd  rather  have  been  —  shot  —  than  to  have  told 
you  that  — "  the  man  beside  her  was  saying,  "  but, 
you  see,  I  didn't  know  you  were  the  girl  — " 

"Of  course  you  couldn't.  You  mustn't  blame 
yourself." 

She  delivered  her  precious  charge  at  the  hospital 
and  put  up  her  car  for  the  night.  Standing  alone 
under  the  stars  she  wondered  what  she  should  do 
next.  There  was  no  one  to  tell  —  the  women  who 
had  worked  with  her  in  the  town  which  had  since 
been  recaptured  by  the  Germans  had  gone  to  other 
towns.  But  she  had  stayed  as  near  the  front  as 
possible,  and  she  had  never  felt  lonely  because  at 
any  moment  her  lover  might  come  —  there  had  al- 
ways been  the  thought  that  he  might  come  — . 

And  now  he  would  never  come ! 

She  had  a  room  in  the  house  of  an  old  woman,  all 
of  whose  sons  were  in  the  war.  So  far  two  of  them 
449 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

had  escaped  death.  But  the  old  woman  said  often, 
fatalistically,  "  They  will  not  always  escape  —  but 
it  will  be  for  France." 

The  old  woman  had  soup  on  the  fire  for  Drusilla's 
supper.  The  room  was  faintly  lighted.  "  What  is 
it?"  she  asked,  as  the  girl  dropped  down  on  the 
doorstep. 

"My  Captain  is  dead—" 

The  old  woman  rose  and  stood  over  her.  "  It 
comes  to  all." 

"  I  know." 

"  Will  you  eat  your  soup?  When  the  heart  fails, 
the  body  must  have  strength." 

Drusilla  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The 
room  was  very  still.  The  old  woman  went  back  to 
her  chair  by  the  fire  and  waited.  At  last  she  rose 
and  filled  a  small  bowl  with  the  soup  —  she  broke 
into  it  a  small  allowance  of  bread.  Then  she  came 
and  sat  on  the  step  beside  the  girl. 

"Eat,  Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  with  something 
like  authority,  and  Drusilla  obeyed.  And  when  she 
gave  back  the  bowl,  the  old  woman  set  it  on  the 
floor,  and  drew  the  girl's  head  to  her  breast. 

And  Drusilla  lay  there,  crying  softly,  a  lonely 
American  mothered  by  this  indomitable  old  woman 
of  France. 

Days  passed,  days  in  which  men  came  and  men 
went  and  Drusilla  sang  to  them.  And  now  new 
faces  were  seen  among  the  tired  and  war-worn  ones. 
450 


"HE  CAME  TO  TEE  WARS!" 

Eager  young  Americans,  pressing  forward  towards 
the  front,  found  a  countrywoman  in  the  little  town, 
and  they  wrote  home  about  her.  "  She's  a  beauty, 
by  jinks,  and  when  she  sings  it  pulls  the  heart  out 
of  you.  She's  the  kind  you  want  to  say  your  pray- 
ers to." 

So  her  fame  went  forth  and  took  on  gradually 
something  of  the  supernatural  —  her  tall,  straight 
slenderness,  her  steady  eyes,  her  halo  of  red  hair 
grew  to  have  a  sort  of  sacred  significance,  like  that 
of  some  militant  young  saint. 

Then  came  a  day  when  Berry's  regiment  marched 
through  the  town  to  the  trenches,  spent  an  interval, 
and  came  back,  awed  by  what  it  had  seen,  but  un- 
daunted. 

Brasilia,  sitting  on  the  doorstep  of  the  stone 
house,  saw  a  tall  figure  striding  down  the  street. 
He  stopped  to  speak  to  an  old  woman  and  doffed  his 
hat,  showing  a  clipped  silver-blond  head. 

Brasilia  went  flying  through  the  dusk.  "  Berry, 
Berry ! " 

He  stared  and  stared  again.  "Is  it  you?"  he 
asked.  Nothing  was  vivid  now  about  Brasilia  ex- 
cept her  hair. 

"  Yes." 

He  took  her  hands  in  his.  "  My  dear  girl."  It 
was  hard  for  either  of  them  to  speak. 

"  Bid  Bruce  McKenzie  tell  you  that  my  Captain 
has  —  gone  West?  " 

451 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"I  had  a  letter.  I  haven't  seen  him.  His  hos- 
pital isn't  far  from  here,  I  understand." 

"  Just  outside.     He  —  he  has  been  a  great  help 

—  to  me,  Berry." 

She  took  him  back  to  her  doorstep  and  they  sat 
down. 

"  Tell  me  about  Jean." 

He  tried  to  tell  her,  wavered  a  little  and  spoke 
the  truth.  "  The  hardest  thing  was  leaving  her. 
I  don't  mind  the  fighting.  I  don't  mind  anything 
but  the  fact  that  she's  over  there  and  I'm  over  here. 
But  it  had  to  be  —  of  course." 

"  Yes,  everything  had  to  be,  Derry.  I  am  believ- 
ing that  more  and  more.  When  my  Captain  went 

—  I  found  how  much  I  cared.     I  hadn't  always  been 
sure.    But  I  am  sure  now,  and  I  am  sure,  too,  that 
he  knows  — " 

"  Love  —  in  these  times,  Derry  —  isn't  building  a 
nest  —  and  singing  songs  in  the  tree  tops  on  a  May 
morning;  it  goes  beyond  just  the  man  and  the 
woman ;  it  even  goes  beyond  the  child.  It  goes  as 
far  as  the  future  of  mankind.  What  the  future  of 
the  world  will  be  depends  not  so  much  on  how  much 
you  love  Jean  or  she  loves  you,  or  on  how  much  I 
loved  and  was  loved,  but  on  how  much  that  love 
will  mean  to  the  world.  If  we  can't  give  up  our 
own  for  the  sake  of  the  world's  ideal  then  love 
hasn't  meant  what  it  should  to  you  and  to  me, 
Derrj  — " 

452 


"HE  CAME  TO  THE  WARS!" 

She  rose  as  a  group  of  men  approached.  "  They 
want  me  to  sing  for  them.  You  won't  mind?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  have  heard  of  you  everywhere. 
I  believe  that  some  of  the  fellows  say  their  prayers 
to  you  at  night  — " 

She  stood  up  and  sang.  Her  hair  caught  the 
light  from  the  room  back  of  her.  She  gave  them  a 
popular  air  or  two,  a  hymn,  "  The  Marseillaise  — '' 

He  missed  nothing  in  her  then.  In  spite  of  her 
paleness,  the  old  fire  was  there,  the  passion  of  pa- 
triotism —  there  was,  too,  a  new  note  of  triumphant 
faith. 

She  needed  no  candles  now,  no  red  and  white  and 
blue  for  a  background  —  she  did  not  even  need  her 
beauty,  her  voice  was  enough  — 

When  she  sat  down  and  the  men  had  gone  she  said 
to  Derry,  "  Do  you  remember  when  I  last  sang  the 
*  Marseillaise '  for  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  brought  out  from  his  pocket  a  tiny  object  and 
set  it  on  the  step,  so  that  the  light  from  the  open 
door  shone  on  it. 

"  You  gave  it  to  me,  Drusilla." 

"  Oh,  my  little  tin  soldier." 

"  And  after  all,  he  came  to  the  wars  — " 

Very  proudly  the  little  soldier  shouldered  his 
musket. 

He  had  indeed  come  to  the  wars,  and  the  winds 
of  France  blew  upon  him,  the  stars  of  France  were 
453 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

over  his  head,  the  soil  of  France  was  beneath  his 
feet. 

Trutter-a-trutt,  trutter-a-trutt  —  blew  all  the 
bugles  of  France,  and  the  little  tin  soldier  was  at 
last  content ! 

Derry  had,  too,  in  his  pocket  a  letter  from  Jean. 
He  read  to  Drusilla  the  part  that  belonged  to  her. 

"  Tell  Drusilla  that  there's  a  chair  in  our  dream 
house  for  her.  I  often  shut  my  eyes  and  see  her  in 
it,  and  I  see  Daddy  and  you,  Derry,  all  home  safe 
from  the  war  and  4he  world  at  peace — " 

"Safe /and  at  home  and  the  world  at  peace — . 
Will  the  time  ever  come,  Derry  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  will  come.     It  must  — " 

It  was  three  days  later  that  Dr.  McKenzie  mo- 
tored over  for  a  late  supper  with  Drusilla  and 
Derry.  They  were  served  by  the  old  woman  who 
tad  mothered  the  lonely  girl. 

"  To  think,"  the  Doctor  said,  as  they  sat  at  their 
frugal  board,  "  to  think  that  we  three  should  be  here 
in  the  midst  of  all  this ;  and  yet  a  year  ago  I  was 
wondering  what  to  do  with  the  rest  of  my  life,  Dru- 
silla was  running  around  telling  people  what  kind 
of  pictures  to  put  on  their  walls,  and  what  kind  of 
draperies  to  put  at  their  windows,  and  Derry  was 
trying  to  pretend  that  he  was  not  an  elegant  idler; 
and  now  —  we  are  seeing  a  world  made  over  — " 

"  You  are  seeing  the  world  of  men  made  over," 
454 


"HE  CAME  TO  THE  WARS!" 

said  Brasilia,  "but  the  most  wonderful  thing  is 
seeing  the  women  made  over." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  the  women  made  over,"  the 
Doctor  groaned.  "  They  are  nice  enough  as  it  is.  I 
want  my  little  Jean  gay  and  smiling  —  and  Derry 
tells  me  that  she  is  a  nun  in  a  white  veil." 

"  She  is  more  than  that,"  Derry  said,  and  a.  great 
light  came  into  his  eyes.  "I  sometimes  feel  that 
she  and  Drusilla  are  holding  hands  across  the  sea 
—  two  brave  women  in  different  spheres." 

Drusilla,  wise  Drusilla  pondered.  "  Perhaps  the 
war  will  teach  men  like  Bruce  that  women  aren't 
playthings  — " 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  me,  Drusilla." 

"  I  am  not  hard.     I  am  telling  the  truth." 

"  I'll  forgive  you,  because  in  these  weeks  you've 
taught  me  a  lot — "  Bruce  McKenzie's  world 
would  not  have  recognized  in  this  tired  and  serious 
gentleman  its  twinkling,  teasing  man  of  medicine. 

Weary  feet  on  the  stones  — 

"  I  must  go  to  them,"  Drusilla  said. 

She  went  out  on  the  step.  They  saw  the  men 
cluster  about  her  —  French  and  English,  Scotch  — 
a  few  Americans. 

Her  voice  soared : 

*'  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  the  glory  in  his  bosom  which  transfigures  you  and  me. 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free  — 
While  God  is  marching  on  — " 

455 


THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

"Look/'  said  the  Doctor.  "Do  you  see  their 
faces,  Derry?" 

Gazing  up  at  her  as  if  they  drank  her  in,  the  men 
listened.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  nation  of 
dreamers,  the  daughter  of  a  nation  which  made  its 
dreams  come  true. 

Tired  and  spent,  they  saw  in  her  hope  personified. 
They  saw  America  coming  fresh  and  unworn  to  fight 
a  winning  battle  to  the  end.  So  they  turned  their 
faces  towards  Drusilla.  She  was  more  to  them 
than  a  singing  woman.  Behind  her  stood  a  stead- 
fast people  —  and  God  was  marching  on. 


THE   END 


456 


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